Her New Groove 4m2ao

Her New Groove A MacLaine Girls novella by Shelly Ellis

BRYANT STREET PUBLISHING

Copyright Page

Copyright © 2018 Shelly Ellis

All rights reserved. This book, or any portion thereof, may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

A Note from the Author

Dear Reader,

The life of a working author isn’t easy. In addition to writing novels, I pull down a full-time job where I edit and write for a trade magazine. I also have other big obligations like motherhood to a rambunctious 5-year-old and my decade-long marriage to my wonderful, ive husband. (Yeah, can’t forget about him!) Between all that, I have to find time to write books and juggle deadlines for edits and copy edits. I have to write back cover copy and do self-promotion. And because I write books under two different pen names (Shelly Ellis and Shelly Stratton), it can be a delicate balancing act. With all that being said, I don’t know why some sadistic part of me thought, “Why don’t I try being a hybrid author too?” Whaaaaaaat was I thinking? Ah, now I ! Because I didn’t want to disappear too long from book shelves and book fans. (Trade publishing houses usually put out one to two books a year per author where some self-pubs are putting out a book a month.) I also had ideas that didn’t necessarily lend themselves to what my publisher was looking for, but I still wanted to share them with you guys. So saying all that, I managed to write this novella, even though things have gotten pretty hectic for me lately. But I promised you guys that I would put out this baby in April, and I try my very best to keep my promises! So I’m excited to share with you the story of the next MacLaine girl, Monique Starr, and I hope you enjoy it. For those readers who want to find out more about me and my books, please visit my web site at www.shellyellisbooks.com.

Sincerely,

Shelly

About This Book

An R&B songstress….

The bad boy that got away…

Can they get a second chance at love?

Monique Starr’s music career is at an all-time low: she’s in danger of losing her label contract and an embarrassing event has her front and center in all the gossip blogs—for all the wrong reasons! She decides to head back to D.C. and the MacLaine Academy of the Performing Arts to revamp her image, give her career a badly needed boost, and get her groove back. But she comes home to find her old Academy ailing financially, her mentor battling cancer, and her ex— whom she left behind to seek fame and fortune—very angry and unwilling to give her a second chance. But being back home reminds Monique of her old dreams and what she lost along the way to success. Now faced with second chances, will the music diva choose between love or fame, ion or ambition?

Chapter 1

Monique Starr raised her chin, sucked in her cheeks, and turned her head to the left—hoping that the soft light overhead was catching her at her best angle. She noticed a few of the diners in the upscale L.A. restaurant staring at her. One girl, who looked to be in her early teens, whispered something to one of her tablemates. She then held up her pink camera phone, pointed it in Monique’s direction, and snapped a picture. Monique didn’t mind all the attention—not today, anyway. Some days, she did feel like a monkey in a cage when onlookers stared and gawked at her. It made her seek the privacy of her West Hollywood bungalow or the familiar warmth of the music studio—a place she’d always considered home, but she couldn’t do that anymore. “You betta get over that shit, girl!” her manager, Sonia, had told her bluntly several months ago. “You need to be seen! If you want to help your career, you can’t do it by hiding. We need you out there!” It wasn’t enough anymore just to make catchy songs and memorable music videos. You had to go to industry parties, make reality TV show appearances, get in the gossip blogs, and take Instagram photos in designer gear next to flashy cars, Sonia had lectured. And now that Monique’s album sales were lagging and she was dangerously close to getting dropped from her record label, she was willing to listen to Sonia’s advice. #livingthebestlife, Monique had posted on Instagram only yesterday while posing near some random hotel pool in a chainmail bikini and stilettoes, covered in baby oil. She’d felt like a complete fool doing it, but at least the photo already had 320,000 views and 50,000 likes. Now Monique was back on her grind, trying to boost her visibility and her music career by appearing at one of the hottest restaurants in town with YouTube star and aspiring rapper, Don E. (Yes, that was Don E, not “Donnie” as some of the gossip bloggers occasionally misspelled in their news items.) Unfortunately, Don E seemed unable to get with the program tonight. He acted as if they weren’t

sitting at the table together; he seemed more preoccupied by what was on his phone screen. She shifted closer in the leather-padded booth toward him, placing her hand on his knee and giving it a squeeze. “Will you get off your damn phone?” she said, through clenched teeth, still smiling and looking around the room. She saw someone else taking their picture. “We’re supposed to be having a romantic dinner together. ?” Don E didn’t respond or even look up. Instead, he continued furiously typing. “Don E . . . Don E . . . Don E!” she said, kicking him underneath the table, making him jump beside her and let out a yelp. “Oww! Damn! Why’d you kick me?” he asked with a wince, leaning down to rub his shin. “I said it’s supposed to look like we’re on a romantic dinner date, and you’re not even talking to me,” she whispered, tossing her hair over her shoulder. “Work with me here!” “I’m sorry, Monique, but my man’s losing it right now. I’m tryin’ to get him to chill, but it ain’t workin’,” he muttered as he continued to type. He really did mean his man—as in boyfriend of two and half years. Both Monique and Don E’s managers had orchestrated their fake relationship because it was advantageous for them to be seen together. Pairing Monique with an up-and-coming celebrity in the 18-to-30 demographic could raise her profile and her desirability, Sonia had explained. “Since you’re married to your damn work and haven’t dated anybody in years,” Sonia had lamented. And pairing Don E with a beautiful music songstress like Monique could help to squash the pesky rumors that he was gay. Of course, Don E was gay, but his manager had convinced him to stay in the closet for now. Even if rappers like Frank Ocean were out and proud, that didn’t mean everyone could be— especially if you were just breaking into the business.

Don E’s manager figured he could come out as bisexual in three or five years and gay, maybe in 10. Monique felt bad for Don E, but he still had to understand they were on the clock—so to speak. “Well, tell your man you’ll call him later. We’ll be done in two hours, tops,” she said. The plan was that she and Don E would kiss and cuddle over a candlelit dinner then exit the restaurant arm-and-arm, only to have their photos snapped by paparazzi who just happened to be waiting across the street. The truth was Monique’s publicist had given the paps the heads up that the couple would be dining here tonight, but Monique and Don E would pretend to act surprised and annoyed that their romantic evening had been ruined. “I tried, but he ain’t listening,” Don E now said. His handsome face was grim. He finally sat down his cell phone next to his bread plate. “He found out I was cheating on him, and now he’s buggin’!” “What? We’re not cheating; we’re just pretending! I thought you explained that to him already. You told me you did and he was OK with it!” “He doesn’t think I’m cheating with you!” he whispered shrilly, screwing up his face. “Tyrone found out I was hooking up with my trainer.” Monique closed her eyes and grumbled. She didn’t have the time or the patience for Don E and Tyrone’s little soap opera. When she got home, she planned to call Sonia and tell her that maybe this fake relationship with Don E was a bad idea, but for now, she’d try her best to make it work. She was a professional, after all. She always had been. “Look, apologize to Tyrone when you see him tonight. Hell, send him flowers, but we gotta do this Don E. Let’s just get through it! This will help the both of us. All right?” Don E took a deep breath and nodded. “You’re right. You’re right! I’ll handle this later.” “Thank you!” She exhaled with relief. He reached for his glass and took a sip. He then threw an arm around her

shoulder, gazed into her eyes, licked his full lips, and gave her a sexy grin. “So what were you saying, baby?” he asked in a louder voice that could be overheard by other diners. Good, she thought. He’s back on script. “Oh, nothing really! I was just saying that I spent the whole day working on my new—” Her words halted when his phone frantically buzzed again. They both sighed. “I’ll tell him to stop texting me and I’ll call him back later,” he said, removing his arm from around her shoulder and picking up his cell. Monique let her head flop back against the booth cushion and rolled her eyes to the chandelier above them. “Oh, shit. Oh shit!” Don E squeaked, sounding panicked. “What is it now?” she asked, lowering her eyes from the ceiling and side-eyeing him. “Tyrone leaked a video we made to TMZ. He sent it to the other gossip sites, too. Oh shit! Oh shit! Oh shit!” “What video?” she asked, scrambling to sit upright. “We made it on his birthday. I don’t usually do shit like that but he . . . he wanted to do it! It was a special occasion. Oh, God!” Don E groaned, dropping his face into his hands, letting his phone clatter to the floor. “I knew he was mad, but I didn’t know he was that damn mad!” Monique frantically reached for her clutch and dug out her own cell phone. She saw several texts from her manager and publicist, all within the past five minutes. “What the hell,” she muttered before doing a keyword search for “Don E” and “video.” It didn’t take long to find it. On the screen, she could see Don E with his arms

wrapped around his boyfriend, Tyrone. They were kissing and undressing, murmuring sweet nothings to each other as they did it. She stopped the video before it got too graphic. She was at a loss for words. “How could he do this to me?” Don E whimpered into his hands, now crying. “How could he?” “How could he do this to you?” Monique exclaimed. “What about me? Now everyone knows our relationship is fake! Goddamnit, Don E, why did you cheat on him?” “We’d been fighting. My trainer was a good listener! Shit . . . I don’t know! I told him I was sorry!” Don E sobbed, reaching for one of the dinner napkins to wipe away his tears and the snot gushing down his nose. She sucked her teeth in disgust and climbed out of the booth. As she wound her way past a few dining tables and stomped to the restaurant doors, she dialed Sonia’s number. When Sonia answered, the older woman didn’t even say hello. “Did you see the video?” her manager squawked just as Monique pushed open the restaurant door and stepped onto Santa Monica Boulevard. She headed straight for the valet, holding out her ticket to him. “Yes, I saw the damn video! I told you this would—” “Hey, Monique!” someone yelled, making her whip around. “How’s it feel to have a man who’s on the down low?” Monique didn’t have a chance to respond. Her mouth fell open in shock at the question. Her eyes went wide. She looked utterly horrified as all the cameras flashed, snapping her at the worst possible angle.

***

“This is a nightmare!” Sonia cried as she paced back and forth in Monique’s living room, staring down at her iPad screen and watching the video of Don E and Tyrone for the hundredth time. Sonia’s giant gold hoop earrings flapped against her cheeks like door knockers as she walked. Her top knot almost hit the living room chandelier. In the music industry, Sonia Sanchez had a reputation for her hard negotiating skills and big mouth, but it was her size that many really found intimidating. At six-foot, four-inches tall in heels, she could make most men feel puny in her presence, and she used it to her advantage. She was not a woman to be trifled with, or she would knock you down—literally. “A goddamn fiasco!” she boomed. “I swear to God, the next time Shaun comes asking me to set up something with one of his clients, I’m gonna throw a brick at his damn head! I can’t believe this shit! What was Don E thinkin’?” Monique poured the last of her orange wheat grass smoothie from her blender into a tall glass. It was her second smoothie of the day. She was dieting again. She always dieted when things in her life seemed to be going haywire. It gave her a sense of control to basically starve herself, and she felt badly out of control at this moment. “But don’t worry, girl!” Sonia finally came to a stop and looked at Monique through the cutout between the living room and kitchen. “We’ll fix this! Won’t we, Hailey?” “Yep!” Hailey, Monique’s publicist, assured over the speaker phone. “We’re working on a strategic response at this moment. I’ve dealt with worse. Believe me! We can do this!” Monique leaned over her kitchen sink to peek out the blinds at her front lawn and the roadway in front of her bungalow. She could see a few cars parked along the street. A photographer reclined against the hood of one of the SUVs with a camera with a telephoto lens dangling from his shoulder. He was probably waiting for her to leave the house, but she hadn’t left in days, not quite ready to show her face to the world. It was bad enough to see Don E’s video plastered everywhere. Even worse to see the photo of herself taken as she was leaving the restaurant under headlines like

“Poor Monique!” or, her personal fav, “Twinkle, Twinkle Little Starr, Guess Whose Man Went Too Far . . .” She was humiliated and felt stupid for allowing herself to be put into this situation. When Sonia had suggested the hare-brained scheme that Monique pretend to date Don E, Monique had thought it was ludicrous and said as much. She should have stuck to her guns. “We’ve already issued your statement in response to the video, Monique,” Hailey’s voice crackled over the phone’s speaker, “but we need to switch from defense to offense. We need to find something that can distract everyone from the video . . . something that will keep them from seeing you as just—” “Poor Monique?” Monique asked with raised brows as she sauntered into the living room. She sat on the arm of her sofa and sipped from her glass. She cringed at the taste of her smoothie. It might help keep her figure trim, but it tasted awful. “Well, yeah,” Hailey said with an anxious laugh. “Maybe if you started dating someone else—a hottie who could make folks forget that Don E even existed?” “Oooo!” Sonia exclaimed. Her face lit up. “I know just the guy! He would be—” “No!” Monique said, furiously shaking her head. “No more fake relationships! I’m not pretending to date another singer, actor, or Instagram star just for buzz. I’m done with that shit!” “Well,” Hailey began again with a huff, “then our only other option is for you to do something that could distract everyone from what happened.” “She’s got that guest spot on Love & Hip Hop coming out next month,” Sonia piped before sitting in one of the chairs and crossing her long legs. “We can play that up!” “No, it has to be bigger! Bigger! And it has to be positive. No, one wants to see her throwing drinks and fighting. Are there any projects you have going on that I don’t know about, Monique? Any volunteer work?” Monique lowered her glass from her mouth and frowned. “What do you mean? Like donating to a soup kitchen or Toys for Tots?” She shrugged. “I’ve written checks to a few places and gone to some benefits but—”

“No, this will require you to get your hands dirty, unfortunately,” Hailey insisted. “We don’t want it to be obvious that you’re trying to distract people. We want it to look like you’re really focused on it . . . that it’s your ion . . . that you’re too concerned with it to even care about Don E and his sex video!” Monique loudly exhaled, making her blunt bangs ruffle. “But I don’t have anything like that in the works!” “Yes, you do,” Sonia interrupted, slowly nodding. Monique frowned at her manager. “I do? What?” “You have something that’s kinda like what Hailey is talking about.” Sonia scooted forward in her chair. “ that note you told me your old dance teacher sent you a couple of months ago? The one asking you to help out at her performance academy?” Monique’s frown deepened. Yes, she’d received an email from Miss Yvonne asking her to come back to the MacLaine Academy of Performance Arts, which “wasn’t doing too well” and needed someone like Monique to “bring it back to its greatness,” according to Miss Yvonne. But Monique didn’t even entertain the thought of going back to the Academy. She’d asked her part-time assistant to have the nicest bouquet she could get for 500 bucks delivered to Miss Yvonne. Monique had even written the note herself declining the invitation—a personal touch she didn’t usually do with business correspondence, but she’d made an exception because of how much she respected her old teacher. “I already told her no!” Monique now exclaimed, sipping from her smoothie again. “Besides, I can’t just drop everything here to head back to D.C.! What about my album? What about the appearances I have scheduled for—” “That album is going to sit on the shelf if we don’t get you poppin’ again, baby,” Sonia said, snapping her fingers. “Your label doesn’t care who you were five years ago. They care who you are now! And right now, you’re just a singer with low sales who got cheated on by a so-so rapper who, according to his sex video, likes to start from the bottom and take it to the head—and I ain’t talkin’ about Drake and DJ Khaled!”

“Cute,” Monique mumbled, narrowing her eyes. “We have to improve your brand, Monique,” Hailey added, “and right now it’s ailing!” “This is ridiculous! I can’t go back there!” Monique shouted in frustration. “I can’t!” She watched as her manager shoved herself to her feet and strolled towards her. Monique had to peer up to look at Sonia. It was like gazing up at an Egyptian monolith. “You can—and you will. Besides, it’ll only be for a couple of months, girl! Just enough time to reboot your image and get people talking about somethin’ else.” “We can even go with a whole storyline that you went back to your roots to find yourself, that you wanted to take a break from L.A. and help the kiddies!” Hailey gushed over the phone. “Oh, I like this! I like this a lot!” Monique pursed her lips. She didn’t want to try yet another scheme and tell even more lies, but she loved her new album. She’d put her heart and soul into it. It was too good to just sit on a shelf. And if the label got behind it, it could be the hit she sorely needed. Plus, she had worked too hard for too many years and sacrificed too much to just give up without a real fight. “Fine,” she finally said, shaking her head. “I can’t believe I’m saying this but . . . fine! If it’s only for a couple of months and you’re sure . . . you’re sure this will work!” “Of course, I’m sure!” Sonia shouted. “Have I ever steered you wrong?” “Actually, you have,” Monique was about to say just as the older woman yanked her smoothie out of her hand, took a drink, and winced. “Ugh,” Sonia cried, “I don’t know how you can drink this shit, girl!”

Chapter 2

“We’re here, Miss Starr,” the driver said as he pulled to a stop on the cracked asphalt of the parking lot. Monique lowered her sunglasses and squinted out the tinted window at the building in front of her. MacLaine Academy of the Performing Arts was as underwhelming as she’d ed. It was a squat, two-story industrial building made of glass and cinderblocks, painted a non-descript slate gray. The only thing that let you know it was a performing arts school was the sign overhead and the one stenciled on the glass front door. Otherwise, it could be anything from a furniture store to a place that housed storage units. Monique had hoped its appearance had improved along with the rest of her old neighborhood. During the drive there, Monique had been surprised to see all the old rowhouses, liquor and corner stores, and rundown buildings of her youth replaced with fancy restaurants and high-rise condos, stylish boutiques and fitness clubs. But here, in the center of such an up-and-coming area, the Academy looked like a pimple on what would be an otherwise blemish-free face. She watched as the driver climbed out the car and walked around to the back to open her enger door. He stood with it yawning open and smiled down at her expectantly, waiting for her to climb out. For a few seconds, she hesitated. Maybe this is a bad idea, she thought. After Monique had dropped off her bags at the hotel, she had decided to come straight here rather than call Yvonne and Bina MacLaine to tell them she was coming. She wanted the element of surprise to work in her favor. If she’d told them about her impending arrival, they would inevitably ask why she had dropped everything back in L.A. to return to the Academy, and she still wasn’t sure what lie she would tell them. She certainly couldn’t tell them the full truth

that Don E’s sex tape had humiliated her and she was only here to shift the focus to something else and help revitalize her image and career. She knew instinctively Bina, Miss Yvonne’s daughter, would have none of that. So Monique was leaning more toward giving a partial truth: Don E’s affair had taken its toll on her, and she needed a break from her old life—at least for a bit. She had come back to the Academy to seek refuge and help them out while she was here like Miss Yvonne had requested. Yeah, she thought, that sounds convincing. I should go with that one. “Uh, Miss Starr?” the driver asked, frowning down at her. “Were you still planning to get out here?” Monique blinked then brusquely nodded. “Yeah! Y-yes!” She took the driver’s hand and climbed out of the Jag. She adjusted her purse and smoothed down the front of her short denim skirt. “You can come back in an hour,” she said to the driver. “I should be ready by then.” He nodded before shutting the enger door behind her. She slowly walked to the building’s entrance, took a deep breath, and swung the door open. When she stepped inside, she instantly heard the music and the voices. Her body began to tingle. She marveled as goosebumps sprouted on her arms. Looking around her, Monique was flooded with memories. One was of her running down the hall with her tap shoes slung over her shoulder, the other was of her doing her algebra homework in between classes while sitting on the linoleum floors with a bottle of Gatorade and bag of chips at her side. She ed practicing her scales over and over again in one of the studios two doors down. She swore she could hear her teacher, Miss Gia, pounding piano keys with her index finger. “Listen! Listen to the note, Monique,” the older woman had ordered. Monique gazed at the walls in the lobby. All showed photos of various performances, many from the year-end productions over the past two decades. Among the bunch, she noticed a picture of herself with Bina and their friend,

Jennifer Dudley, doing what looked like an impersonation of Destiny’s Child’s “Cater 2 U” with their mermaid-cut gowns, elbow-length gloves, and sultry poses. Monique was front and center. She now cringed a little at her 17-year-old self. “Damn, I was big,” she whispered, leaning toward the old photo, running her hands over her legs, almost expecting to find plump thighs there again, instead of the thinner ones she’d dieted, exercised, and damn near starved into fruition. She had been much curvier back then—the thickest of their trio. In fact, that was how she had earned the nickname, “Peanut.” It had been bestowed upon her on the playground by the kids for her roly-poly shape and coloring, which they claimed resembled a peanut. Pretty soon, everyone started to call her that. She’d always hated that stupid nickname. The only one who hadn’t called her Peanut had been Justin. Justin, she thought wistfully. She wondered where he was now. If she had to guess, he was probably in jail serving time for stealing a car or breaking and entering or something else along those lines. Her old boyfriend had been quite the bad boy back then. Some might even describe him as a “borderline thug,” but she had seen something in Justin that no one else could see. Monique saw past Justin’s hard, abrasive exterior to the sensitive, caring boy underneath. And he saw in her what no one else could see, too. He saw past the plump girl who was starving for the attention and love she never got at home from her drug-addicted mother. He was the first one who told Monique she could be a star. He was the only one who had believed in her without question. “Can I help you, ma’am?” someone called out to Monique, snapping her back to the present. Monique turned away from the wall of framed photos and peered at the woman sitting at the receptionist desk who was staring back at her. “Oh, uh . . . I was wondering if Miss Yvonne was around,” Monique said, strolling toward the desk. The woman nodded as she twirled the pencil in her hand. “She is. May I ask who

—” “Oh, my God!” someone screamed, making both women jump in alarm. “Oh, my God! Oh, my God! It’s you!” Monique looked to her left to see a girl who was likely 10- or 11-years-old running toward her. The girl skidded to a stop less than a foot in front of her and started jumping up and down. “It’s you! It’s you! You’re Monique Starr, aren’t you?” Monique laughed and nodded. “Yes, and who might you be, sweetie?” The little girl didn’t answer her. Instead, she brought her hand to her mouth, let out another screech, and burst into tears. Other students in the hallway drifted into the lobby to see why the girl was sobbing. As they did, their eyes landed on Monique and it produced myriad reactions. Some went wide eyed and stark still, like deer caught in headlights. Others started pointing at her frantically. A few even started screaming, too. “You’re the Monique Starr?” the receptionist asked. “I’m so sorry, Ms. Starr! I didn’t recognize you. I hope I didn’t offend you, ma’am!” Monique didn’t get a chance to respond. She was hit by wave after wave of kids who all huddled around her, asking for her picture, begging for her autograph, or yelling about how much they loved her music. Monique was taken aback by all their adoration. She was used to having fans approach her, but never like this. She posed with a few of the kids, smiling as they snapped pictures with their phones. She hugged a few who couldn’t even form words but just wrapped their arms around her and wept, like they were meeting Santa Claus in real life. “Peanut?” she heard someone call to her. Monique turned to find Bina MacLaine staring at her in amazement. Though she hadn’t seen her in years, she recognized Bina instantly. Her former bestie was as beautiful as she ed.

Of course she is, Monique thought, almost with a resigned acceptance. Though Monique was the most diversely talented in their bunch, Bina had always been the prettiest. She had the natural good looks, body, and hair that women in L.A. paid a lot of money and went through a lot of pain to get. “Hey, Bee!” Monique said, removing her sunglasses and forcing a smile. “Long time no see!” Bina looked her up and down. “What . . . what are you doing here?” she stuttered. Monique stepped forward and clumsily dragged her old friend into a hug. “I’m home, sis!” she exclaimed, hoping she wasn’t laying it on too thick. “I’m here to help save the school.” Bina stepped back and continued to stare at her blankly. “W-what?” “I got Miss Yvonne’s email so I came to help!” Bina squinted. “But you said no. I saw the note. You said you were too busy with your album and appearances.” Monique shrugged, flipped her hair over her shoulder, and laughed awkwardly. “Well . . . things change, girl!” Bina nodded limply. Instead of looking excited to see her, Bina looked wary. “I heard Miss Yvonne is around,” Monique said, trying to change the subject. “I’d love to see her!” “Uh, yeah, I’ll . . . I’ll take you to her office.” Bina then glanced at the students huddled around them. “OK, guys, give Monique some breathing room! I’m sure you’ll all have a chance to get your pictures with her later, but give her some space for now! OK?” A few moaned and groaned in response, but they did loosen the tight circle they had formed around Monique. As she and Bina left the lobby and walked down the hall, a few trailed behind them anyway. Bina shooed them away and they scrambled. But even as they ed doors along the corridor, some heads poked

out to stare at Monique and Bina inquisitively. “Wow, there are so many kids here!” Monique said, looking around her. “I’m surprised you guys are having any issues. This place is packed!” “We’ve increased our numbers a little bit this summer, but not enough for us to be sustainable for the long term,” Bina said before glancing into one of the rooms where several girls were getting into second position in front of the dance barre. “Some classes have only six or seven students where in the past they would have had more than a dozen. The neighborhood has changed a lot, as I’m sure you’ve noticed.” “Yeah, it looks dope! So much nicer than when I used to live around here. I was shocked!” “Yeah, well,” Bina said, pursing her lips, “it may look ‘dope,’ but it isn’t very affordable. People who can’t afford the rising rent prices have moved away to Prince George’s County and other places—me included. It’s been a slow trickle over the years that’s turned into a flood, and it’s taken its toll on the Academy.” “The new families moving in don’t have kids? They aren’t enrolling them?” “Most of the transplants are yuppie singles and young couples who haven’t started families yet. And honestly, the ones who do have kids don’t wanna bring them here.” “Why not? How do you know?” Bina chuckled. “Because we tried reaching out to a few mom groups, posting flyers in the local park. But we got no bites. Finally, one woman outright told us why she and the other parents wouldn’t bring their children here. She said they don’t want their kids mingling with the ‘kind of children we usually cater to . . . ones from those kind of environments.’ “She was talking about our kids like they were criminals, Peanut! So to hell with her! To hell with all of them! If they’re going to look down their noses at us, we don’t want them here.” Monique sighed. “OK, well if you can’t bring in money that way, why can’t you just raise tuition?”

“Not without pricing out most of our students, which would bring us right back where we started.” “I see.” Monique nodded thoughtfully, now getting a full grasp of the obstacles they faced. “Well, we’ll figure out how to make it work. Gotta give it the old college try, right?” Bina abruptly stopped as they neared the end of the hall. She turned around to face her. “The old college try . . . what exactly does that mean?” Monique frowned. “I don’t know . . . the old college try! It’s just what people say! You’ve never heard of the expression, Bee?” “Yes, I’ve heard of it. But does the ‘old college try’ for you mean some actual plans—or are they just empty words you’re throwing around? Are you really going to stay and help? That’s what I’m asking.” Monique’s frown deepened. She didn’t like Bina’s tone. “I’m here, aren’t I?” “Yeah, you’re here. But for how long? We haven’t seen you in more than 10 years, Peanut, and barely heard from you! Mom asked you for help, and you told her ‘no’ months ago, but then suddenly, inexplicably you changed your mind. Can you see why this seems real suspect?” “I was going through some shit back home and decided to come here to help me focus on something else . . . something meaningful, if you really must know!” “Some shit back home?” Bina repeated back to her, sounding and looking incredulous. “If you’d read the gossip blogs, you’d know what I’m talking about!” Monique angrily crossed her arms over her chest. “Look, do you just not want me here? Is that it? Because if that’s the case, just spit it out!” “No, I want you here if you really want to help us. But if you’re just here for a few quick photo ops and good press, then we don’t need you. Mom’s suffered enough. Don’t get her hopes up.” Bina then turned back around and started walking again. Monique didn’t follow her immediately. Instead, she silently fumed.

She hadn’t expected Bina to be ecstatic to see her, but she hadn’t expected her to be so confrontational either. But again, she should have expected as much from anal-retentive Bina MacLaine. Even when they were teens, even though they had been best buds and almost like sisters, Bina had never missed the opportunity to act like a mother hen and lecture her and Jennifer. She watched as Bina halted in front of one of the closed doors. She knocked. “Mama, are you in there?” Bina called. “Can I come in?” “Yep, just finishing up before we have to go,” Miss Yvonne answered. “I have a surprise for you,” Bina said, glancing at Monique before opening her mother’s office door. “What surprise?” Miss Yvonne asked. Monique took a few cautious steps toward the opened door. She gave a bashful smile and waved. “Hi, Miss Yvonne!” Miss Yvonne let out a yip before clapping her cheeks. Her mouth fell open. She rose to her feet. “Peanut . . . sweetheart, what are you doing here?” she shouted as she walked around her desk and came to Monique with wide open arms. “Oh, it’s so good to see you, baby!” Monique embraced her and was shocked to feel how frail and skinny Miss Yvonne was. She took a step back and stared at her, taking in her sunken cheeks, her sallow skin, and dry, cracked lips. She looked sick, very sick. “What . . . what are you . . . what happened . . .” Monique said helplessly, unable to ask her the question she wanted to ask without sounding obtrusive. “Cancer isn’t fun,” Miss Yvonne said with a shrug, “but I’m fighting it. I’m trying my best!” “Yes, she is,” Bina whispered behind them. “And she’s doing a damn good job of it.”

Monique turned to look at Bina whose face was stoic, yet sad. She looked like she was holding back tears. Monique realized tears were in her own eyes, too. Miss Yvonne has cancer? Why hadn’t she known? Why hadn’t anyone told her? Of all the people in the world, why did it have to be sweet, warm, and giving Miss Yvonne? Monique felt warm tears spill onto her cheeks. Miss Yvonne raised her hand and wiped them away. “Oh, enough with all that crying! I have cancer, but I ain’t dead. Not yet anyway!” she said with laugh, rubbing Monique’s shoulder, making her laugh even though she wanted to sob. “So tell me everything! Tell me what you’ve been up to, and don’t you leave out a thing, girl!”

*** A half hour and several tears later, Monique, Miss Yvonne, and Bina walked back to the lobby. Bina said they had to be on their way since Miss Yvonne had a chemotherapy appointment scheduled. When they arrived at the Academy’s front desk, they saw the throng of students waiting for Monique had grown at least two-fold. Several of them shouted to take a picture with her. A few asked for her to sing. “Oh, I would love to hear you sing again, Peanut. I’ve heard your albums, but I what your voice was like in person,” Miss Yvonne said. “Sing? Right now?” Monique asked. Miss Yvonne eagerly nodded. Bina looked at her and shrugged in a “It’s up to you, girl,” kind of way. Monique glanced at all the students and even a few of the teachers who seemed to be waiting for her to belt out a ballad. She hesitated. It wasn’t that she couldn’t sing anymore. While many artists relied heavily on the backing track during their performances, she prided herself on being able to

sing live. But she hated impromptu performances. All it took was hitting one wrong note and everyone would look at you like you were a complete phony. But still, Miss Yvonne had asked her to do it, and she wasn’t about the turn the older woman down—not after just discovering Miss Yvonne was battling cancer. Monique took a deep breath, closed her eyes, and began one of the songs from her first album. It was a soft tune that required only a few vocal tricks, but it was one of her early hits. After about a minute, she got into it. She forgot she was singing to about a few dozen people in the middle of a lobby and imagined singing alone in the recording booth. When Monique finished her last note, she slowly opened her eyes and looked at the students surrounding her. The room was totally silent. They were all staring at her in awe. Miss Yvonne had her hands clasped in front of her and tears in her eyes. “Miss Starr! Miss Starr!” she heard a teeny voice gush behind her. “I love you so much! Please sing another one!” Monique turned, expecting to find a cute little face grinning up at her adoringly. Instead, her eyes landed on a lean, handsome one. It was scowling. She blinked in shock. Her stomach dropped. Oh, my God, she thought, now gaping. It was her first boyfriend, her first love, though he seemed to have aged more than a decade since she’d last seen him, had grown a beard, put on about fifteen pounds of solid muscle, and was now wearing a police uniform, for some reason. But she didn’t mind the uniform; he looked sexy as hell in it. “Justin?” she whispered, almost in disbelief. “Monique,” he replied with a nod. “Oh, man! It’s been so long! How have you been?” “I’ve been fine,” he said.

He didn’t elaborate. He didn’t even smile. She wondered if maybe he’d been caught off guard running into her today, like she’d been finding him standing there. Maybe that was why he was acting so strangely. “Well, what are you doing here?” she asked, taking a step toward him, opening her arms to embrace him in greeting. “What have you been up to?” But she didn’t get a chance to give him a hug. He abruptly turned away and placed his hand on the shoulder of a pretty, chubby little girl in a leotard and tights standing at his side. “Time to go, honey,” he whispered to the girl, who had to be no older than eight or nine. She was still staring with amazement at Monique. When she glanced up at Justin, her round face crumpled. “But Daddy,” the girl whined, “can’t we stay for a little bit? I wanna hear her sing—” “No, we cannot. Time to go,” he repeated firmly, grabbing her hand. Daddy?

Monique’s eyes shifted from the girl to Justin and back again. She finally noticed the resemblance in the eyes and noses, in the same “warm toasted bun” complexion.

Justin has a daughter? Monique lowered her arms. Her hands dropped to her sides. She watched helplessly as the duo turned around completely. Justin practically had to drag the little girl toward MacLaine Academy’s entrance. His daughter kept looking over her shoulder at Monique though, pleading with Justin as they went. But he continued across the lobby with an apathetic resolve. Father and daughter walked outside to the parking lot, letting the door bang closed behind them.

Chapter 3

“Why couldn’t we stay, Daddy? I wanted to hear another song!” Kayla whined, slumping down in the enger seat. “Because Grandma is waiting for us back at her house,” Justin replied, glancing at his little girl when they reached a stoplight. “She’s making your favorite for dinner tonight—Sloppy Joes with corn on the cob. You told her last week you were going to help her set the dinner table. She can’t start without you!” Kayla’s braids fell into her face as she dropped her chin to her chest. “You don’t wanna make Grandma wait, do you? Huh? Do you?” he asked, raising his brows and painting on a smile. He removed one hand from the steering wheel to tickle her side. Kayla giggled for a bit, then playfully smacked her father’s hand away. She crossed her arms over her chest and pouted, insisting on being mad. “But it was Monique Starr . . . Monique Starr, Daddy!” His smile disappeared. “I’m aware of who it was,” he said, turning his eyes back to the roadway when the light turned green. How could he forget it? Of course, when he had known her, she was still Monique Neumann—the girlfriend he would have practically given his life for. He had loved Monique with a zeal that was almost baffling now. It was the intense kind of love and ion that was unique to teenagers. It had burned hot and bright like a supernova and, inevitably, collapsed in on itself. When Monique left D.C. and him at nineteen to head out West to try her hand at music, she’d left a black hole inside of Justin that it had taken him years to crawl out of. It hadn’t been easy, seeing her videos on television and hearing her songs on the radio. Even at the damn grocery store, he might hear the Muzak version of one of her tunes on occasion. He’d thought that after all this time, he’d finally . . . finally gotten over her. But when he’d arrived at the Academy to pick up Kayla and saw Monique singing in the lobby, his heart almost stopped. Monique was as

alluring as he ed, though she seemed flashier and a lot thinner now than she had been a decade ago. When she sang, she projected the same magnetism that made people stop in their tracks, that made them stare at her. Justin had looked at the faces of all the kids, at how they were so enraptured. He’d also seen the look of sheer adoration in his little girl’s big, dark eyes as she gazed up at Monique, and he almost became sick to his stomach. His love for Monique way back when had blinded him to many things: her ambition, her hunger for fame—and her selfishness. But he wasn’t blind anymore. Monique Starr was not someone you got attached to, and she certainly wasn’t someone you developed feelings for, unless you wanted to get hurt in the end. He didn’t know why she was back at the Academy, or whether she was there for a one-day visit or to stay. But he’d be damned if he’d let his daughter fall for her. He didn’t want to set her up for disappointment. “I wish I could sing like her,” Kayla murmured, staring dreamily out the enger-side window. “Sing like who, baby?” he asked and then flicked on his blinker. He had been so distracted by his thoughts about Monique that he’d almost missed the turn onto his mother’s street. “Sing like Monique Starr, Daddy! Geez!” Kayla threw up her hands comically in exasperation, making him laugh. “Her voice is so pretty!” “I like your voice,” he said, hoping to finally shift the conversation from his old girlfriend. “You don’t need to change it; I think it’s pretty as it is!” “Mrs. Xavier likes my voice, too,” Kayla said proudly, referring to the Academy’s head singing instructor. “She told me I should take some classes to get even better, but . . . well . . . Mommy said no.” Justin cocked an eyebrow. “Why’d your mama say no?” “She said I should focus on dancing for now.” Kayla reached down and grabbed two handfuls of the rolls around her midsection. “She said it’ll help me lose weight because I’m getting so fat.”

Justin gritted his teeth, biting back his first response to those words. His ex-wife was obsessed with their daughter’s physique. He guessed it was his fault for marrying a woman who was just as, if not even more shallow than Monique. Unfortunately, he had figured it out way too late. Their marriage had been volatile and their divorce had been just as rancorous. The only good thing that had come out of their relationship had been Kayla, and his ex-wife seemed intent on spoiling even her by messing with the girl’s head. It didn’t seem right to beat up on a nine-year-old for carrying a few extra pounds. He worried it might give Kayla body issues. Justin had heard about girls that were as young as 11 and 12, battling bulimia and anorexia because they were insecure about their weight. He didn’t want Kayla to their ranks. And besides, thickness ran in his family. None of the Mailer women could ever be called lightweights; they ran the gamut from pleasantly plump to big boned. It had helped foster Justin’s long appreciation of thick women. In fact, that was one of the things he had loved about Monique in the old days: her body with all its curves. He ed running his fingers over her soft belly, cupping his hands over her full breasts, and nestling his head between those round, dimpled thighs as she squirmed and shouted out his name. Damnit, he thought in frustration. Why did his mind keep drifting back to Monique? “Well, I don’t think you’re getting too fat,” he said to Kayla as he pulled to a stop in front of his mother’s rowhouse, removing his seatbelt. He leaned over and nudged his daughter’s cheek. “I think my baby is perfect, just the way she is.” Kayla grinned. “Thanks, Daddy!”

***

“There y’all are! Come in! Come in!” Justin’s mother, Latrice, said, opening the front door and waving them from the hot patio into her almost frigid, air-

conditioned living room. Her fuchsia and pink kaftan swayed as she flapped her arm. “I just finished boiling the corn and was about to add some butter. Dinner should be ready in about five minutes or so.” His mother was the only one he knew who ate dinner this early in the day, but she said it was better for digestion. “When I eat after six o’clock, it gives me belly aches,” she’d lamented for as long as he could . “Grandma! Grandma!” Kayla yelled before yanking her dance bag off her shoulder and throwing it to the floor. “You’ll never guess who was at the Academy today!” “How many tries do I get to guess?” Latrice asked with a smile as she strolled back to her eat-in kitchen with Kayla trailing behind her. Justin watched from the living room as his mother opened one of the overhead cabinets and handed a stack of plates to Kayla. The older woman then swung open the refrigerator door. “You get three tries!” Kayla shouted, sitting the three plates on the table and lining up glasses next to them. “Okay,” his mother said, pulling out a pitcher filled with lemonade from one of the refrigerator shelves. “The president?” “No!” His mother sat the pitcher at the center of the kitchen table. “The Queen of England?” “No, Grandma!” Kayla cried, pulling out one of the chairs at the table. She sat down. “That Idris Elba fella? Now that is a man I’d love to meet in person! Let me tell you, honey!” she drawled with a wink before turning back to the counter to retrieve the platter of corn off the cob. “No! It was Monique Starr!”

Latrice paused mid-motion. She turned away from the counter to stare at Kayla. “Who did you say it was, baby?” “Monique Starr! You know . . . the singer! She was at our school and she sang and everything! It was so lit!” “Monique Starr, huh? Well, that’s a name I haven’t heard in a hot minute,” Latrice murmured as her eyes drifted from Kayla to Justin. He knew his mother was waiting for him to show some reaction or emotion, but his face remained imive. She had seen what he had been like the first year Monique had left for Los Angeles. He had been stupid and self-destructive. He had gotten into even more trouble than he had when Monique had been around. He just barely dodged getting arrested that year. It had been a rough period for him—a rough period for them both, since he had to go through it and his mother had to witness it. “I think she knew Daddy!” Kayla said, looking at Justin as he sat down in the chair next to her. “She knew his name.” “Well, she did know your father, sweetheart,” his mother said, carrying the platter to the table and sitting it beside the pitcher. “They knew each other . . . very well.” “How well?” Kayla asked, reaching for one of the corncobs and placing it the plate in front of her. “We were . . . friends,” Justin replied carefully, shifting his chair closer to the table. He watched as his mother brought over another platter. This time it was the Sloppy Joes. “Friends?” Kayla smirked. “You mean like ‘boyfriend and girlfriend’ friends, Daddy?” His mother eyed him from the other side of the table, pursing her lips. “Stop asking questions and say the prayer so we can eat,” he said, nudging Kayla’s shoulder.

Kayla gave a dramatic sigh, but dutifully bowed her head and began the prayer for their meal. An hour and a half later, Kayla was parked in the living room. She lay flat on her belly on the carpet with her legs crossed at the ankles, staring up at her grandmother’s big screen television, watching some teen show on the Disney channel. Latrice sat behind her on the sofa, but hoisted herself to her feet and strolled back into the kitchen where Justin was scrubbing pans that had been soaking in the sink. He’d already placed the dishes in the dishwasher. “You didn’t say much at dinner, baby,” his mother ventured. “Didn’t have much to say,” he muttered in reply before reaching for a towel to dry off the sauce pan he held. His mother leaned against the frame of the kitchen entryway and drank lemonade from her glass. “You sure you being so quiet has nothing to do with Monique being back in town?” Justin paused. He raised his eyes from the pan. “Maybe,” he said with a shrug as he finished drying. “Seeing her today threw me off a little because I wasn’t expecting it. It’s been a while. But I’m fine now. It’s not a big deal.” “It is a big deal, honey. I know how much she hurt you.” “It was more than 10 years ago, Mama,” he grumbled, sitting down the pan he held and reaching into the soapy dish water to retrieve another one. “Since then, I’ve gotten married, ed the Metro Police, had a kid . . . time moves on.” “But the heart might not,” his mother countered softly. “Well, this one did a long time ago. I’m not giving Monique anymore real estate up here.” He tapped his temple. “I bet she didn’t agonize over me all those years. I’m not doin’ it for her! Besides, I have bigger things to worry about.” “Like?” she asked, dropping her hand to her hip and raising her gray brows. “I finally put in an offer on a house. It’s a place out in Fairfax.”

His mother pushed herself away from the door frame. She set her glass on the kitchen counter and clapped her hands. “Aww, baby! That’s such good news!” She grabbed his face and gave his cheek a lip-smacking kiss. “When do you—” “It’s just an offer! My agent hasn’t heard back from the seller yet, but if I get this place, it’ll be a big milestone for me. The first house I’ve ever owned. No more tiny little apartments where Kayla has to sleep on a foldout sofa when she comes over. And it has a big, fenced-in backyard with room for her to play. I’d have plenty space for a dog, too. Maybe even a—” “And room to grow if you ever decide to get married again and give Kayla little brothers and sisters,” his mother added, making him give her the side eye as he finished drying another pan. “No, more kids, Mama. Kayla is my first—and my last.” He glanced at his daughter who was currently giggling at something she saw on television. “I tried the ‘marriage and kids’ thing and I wasn’t good at it. I don’t plan to ever try it again.” “The problem wasn’t marriage, but the woman you chose to marry! And never say never, baby.” She inclined her head. “But either way, I’m so proud of you! You saved up your money. You worked hard for this. Who would’ve thought the same boy who kept me up at night with all his craziness would be such a fine, responsible man today?” She adjusted the collar of his uniform. “You should be proud of yourself, too.” He shrugged again. “I guess I am.” “Monique Neumann don’t know what she lost, honey.” “Mama,” he began warningly. “OK. OK! I won’t talk about her anymore.” She held up her hand. She then glanced over her shoulder. “Let me go on back in the living room and see what this child is watchin’.” He watched as his mother walked out of the kitchen. When he was alone, he sat down the dish towel and braced his hands along the edge of the sink, staring at the wall in front of him.

Justin could try to dismiss how much seeing Monique today had affected him, but in his heart, he knew the truth. Her presence dredged up all these unresolved feelings he had stowed away for years. He didn’t want to examine or contemplate them. He just wanted to shove them back into the box they had been sitting in for the past decade, and he might be able to do that if he didn’t have to ever see Monique again. Perhaps, she would be leaving soon. In fact, maybe she was on a flight back to L.A. at this very moment, returning to the glitzy life she had chosen over him. “Shit. Here’s hoping,” he muttered as he began to put away the scrubbed pans. If he was lucky, this would be the last he’d have to hear about Monique.

Chapter 4

Monique sat at her desk, drumming her nails on the wooden surface. She loudly sighed and reached for her cell. Seeing no new messages on the screen, she gazed out her new office window at the view of the brick wall of the neighboring building. “Lovely,” she thought sarcastically before tossing her cell phone onto the desk. It was funny. Back in L.A., some days she had yearned for the isolation and silence like this. No fans or paps screaming at her for her autograph and to take a quick pic. No phone calls and text messages from managers, publicists, record execs, and assistants. No sitting in stalled traffic on the 405 where she’d be treated to blaring horns, construction noise, and smog. Now, sitting alone in her new office at the MacLaine Academy of Performing Arts, Monique finally had that tranquility she’d always yearned for, and she was bored—insanely bored. With nothing to do, her mind kept wandering. Specifically, it kept wandering back to running into Justin more than a week ago in the Academy’s lobby. She still couldn’t wrap her head around the fact that Justin was now a father and a cop. A very sexy cop, at that. He’d never seemed responsible enough to be a dad, and law enforcement was the last job she could ever imagine him having. She thought back to his handsome face and those cut arms straining against the seams of his uniform. And when he walked away, the view from the back was just as good as the view from the front. The man could crack a walnut with that tight ass. “Damn,” she now whispered at the memory, letting out a low whistle. But Monique was unnerved at how strange he’d acted with her, how standoffish. No, she told herself. That was just your imagination! You’re just being sensitive.

It had been awkward for him to run into a past lover while surrounded by kids, not to mention that his daughter had been standing next to him. Something like that would be awkward for anyone. Maybe he had been caught off guard. Maybe he wasn’t sure what to say. “Or maybe not,” Monique thought, drumming her nails again. She was getting tired of this, of her thoughts going in circles. She needed something to distract her. She needed to get something done. That’s what she’d come here all the way across the country for, after all. Monique pushed her chair back from her desk and shot to her feet. She marched to her office door and swung it open before walking toward the door at the end of the hall that led to the stairwell. Along the way, she ed several children, mostly little girls in leotards, toting ballet slippers or tap shoes. Some still smiled, pointed at her, or gazed at her dreamily, but after a week and a half in residence at the Academy as their new “adjunct faculty”—the lofty title Miss Yvonne had given her—most of kids treated her like she was a normal person now. She was simply “Miss Starr” to them. Monique pushed open the steel door and jogged down the stairs to the first floor. She bee-lined to Bina’s office, bying Miss Yvonne’s closed office door along the way. She needed to talk to someone and frankly, Bina was the only person she could complain to. She certainly couldn’t take her grievances to Miss Yvonne. The older woman was fighting cancer. She shouldn’t have to hear Monique lament about how she had nothing to do. Monique had come here to make herself useful at the Academy, to “get her hands dirty,” as her publicist, Hailey, had directed. She didn’t come here just to stare at four white walls for eight hours a day. Monique knocked on Bina’s door. “Bina! It’s me,” she called out. “Can I come in?” The door didn’t open but she could hear Bina’s muffled voice inside. “Bina! I need to talk to you! Are you busy?” she asked, knocking again. Bina still didn’t answer her, but Monique definitely knew she was in there. She could hear Bina giggling now.

That bitch is ignoring me, Monique thought, crossing her arms over her chest. Typical! Ever since she’d arrived, Bina had treated her like a nuisance that had to be humored. She’d given her insignificant tasks, like reviewing the Academy’s inventory of equipment or responding to outstanding email inquiries. Just yesterday she had made her supervise the delivery of tote bags and t-shirts for the Academy’s small gift shop. But despite the busy work, Monique had carried out every mundane task. She’d figured Bina was trying to either call her bluff and test whether she was really here to help the school—or she was trying to scare her off. But thankfully, Monique didn’t scare off that easily. She was here to get something done and by God, she was going to do that. “Bina!” she shouted again. When she heard another giggle, she sucked her teeth. “I’ve had enough of this shit,” Monique muttered as she grabbed the door knob and shoved the door open. “Bina, I need to . . .” She stopped short just as Bina and Maurice, the Academy’s hip-hop dance instructor, pulled apart, ending what looked to be a searing hot kiss. “Oh, sorry,” Monique whispered with a grimace. “I didn’t know he was . . . that you guys were . . . well, that you were busy.” Maurice wiped Bina’s lipstick from his lips with his thumb. Bina loosened her arms from around his waist and took a step back. Both looked mildly embarrassed. Bina more so. “That door was closed for a reason, Peanut,” she said tightly, making Maurice chuckle. Monique hadn’t been shocked to hear Bina was in a relationship. In fact, she’d expected Bina would be happily married with kids by now. Bina had always had a boyfriend or some guy trailing after her, even when they were young girls. But Monique was surprised to find Bina in a hot and heavy relationship with a former backup dancer a decade younger than herself. Sure, he was tall and fine

as hell, but Maurice was only 22. The boy could only legally drink a year ago. He just didn’t seem like Bina’s type; Bina MacLaine was too reserved and rational to be a cougar. “Like I said . . . I’m sorry,” Monique explained to the couple. “I knocked about three times, Bee. You didn’t answer.” “That was my fault,” Maurice said. “She was trying to get work done and I came in here and disturbed her.” “Is that what you call it?” Bina joked. “In front of other people . . . yeah,” he said with a smirk before giving Bina another quick peck, making her laugh despite her irritated expression. The couple then exchanged a look that let Monique know exactly why Bina was dating a man almost a decade younger than herself—and it wasn’t just because of his good looks. Their gazes went both steamy and gooey simultaneously. It was both heartwarming and nauseating to watch. She couldn’t the last time she’d looked at a man like that, let alone have one look at her that way. They’re in love, Monique thought with a hint of envy. Maurice finally broke his gaze from Bina’s and glanced at Monique who waited patiently in the doorway. “I’ll let you guys do your thing. I’ve got a class in 15 minutes anyway.” He walked toward the door, excusing his way past Monique. “Catch you later, baby!” “Bye, Mo!” Bina called back to him before focusing on Monique again. “OK? So what was so important that you had to talk to me right now, despite my closed door?” “I’m tired of being bored. I want to do something, Bee!” Monique said, striding to Bina’s desk. “You are doing something. You’ve been doing lots of things.” “I’m not talking about busy work! Your mom asked me to come here to help the

Academy. To breathe new life into it! I don’t see how me helping count inventory accomplishes that.” “Well, tomorrow I was going to give a tour to a woman who’s considering enrolling her two daughters into beginner’s African dance. Maybe you could do it instead. I bet they’d be excited to have the famous singer Monique Starr give them the tour.” “That’s just more busy work, Bee!” Monique lamented, throwing back her head. “Come on!” “No, it’s not! We need more students to keep us afloat. Every little bit counts.” “But why have me focus on recruiting one or two students when I could be helping to bring even more bodies in here? Why have me prance around like some show pony, doing tours of the building for one family when I could be doing something to bring attention to the entire school!” Bina flopped back into chair and inclined her head. She held out her hands and peered up at her expectantly. “All right? What did you have in mind? What’s your plan?” “My . . . my plan?” “Yeah, I assume you have one. That’s what this is all about, right? You came storming into my office because you had something in the works. So what’s your plan?” Monique stared at her blankly. She hadn’t expected to be put on the spot like this. She had marched down here in indignation, prepared to be blown off by Bina yet again. She hadn’t expected her to actually listen to what she had to say. “Uh . . . uh . . . why don’t I . . .” She raided her brain for an idea—any possible idea. “Why don’t I . . . I organize a performance?” “A performance?” Bina squinted. “You mean you want to handle the year-end production?” “No, more like . . . a . . . a benefit concert. Like a fundraiser. We can have the kids perform—do some dancing and singing. I can reach out to other folks in the

industry to see if they want to do it, too. I’d bring in some celebrities. We could use the proceeds and put it toward the school.” Bina stared at her in silence. Monique wasn’t sure if she was considering her plan or if she thought the idea was so crazy, it wasn’t even worth responding to. “We’d invite the public,” Monique continued, feeling the words flood out. “We’d do it before the end of the year. Maybe hold it in early September.” “September? That’s only five weeks away.” “I know! I could work fast. I have connections. Trust me . . . I know people!” “But why do it so fast? What’s the rush?” Because I’m only supposed to be here for a couple of months, Bee, not forever, she wanted to say but knew she couldn’t. She knew this little arrangement was only temporary but Bina and Miss Yvonne did not. If she told Bina that, she knew Bina would tell her she was only wasting their time. But even if Monique was here temporarily, she knew she could still do some good. This was her chance to help Miss Yvonne and the Academy, not to mention it was also just the thing Hailey said she needed to distract everyone from the fiasco with Don E. “You said yourself that you may have to start reducing staff by as early as next year,” Monique said, proud of herself for coming up with an excuse so quickly. “We need to do this ASAP, girl!” Bina sat forward in her chair. “But such a short timeline only leaves a couple of weeks to find a venue. Where would we have it? In the parking lot?” Monique sucked her teeth and ran her fingers through her hair. “No! I’ll just have to look around. Constitution Hall or Warner Theater are probably out of the question, but we could try other theaters around here. I can make some calls and see what would work.” “This all sounds like a lot of moving parts though, Peanut. Our year-end productions usually take months to coordinate, not to mention how many hours of practice the kids require. You’re talking about pulling something together in a

fraction of that time and bringing in celebrities, too?” She shook her head in bemusement. “I’ll be honest . . . I don’t see how you can do it.” “Have you ever known me not to do something I really want to do?” Monique asked then sucked her teeth again. “Come on, sis!” Bina laughed. “You’re right about that.” She paused, stared at Monique for what seemed like a full minute, then finally shrugged. “OK.” “OK? You mean it? Really?” Bina nodded. “If you think you can pull it off, I won’t stop you! I’ll help in any practical way I can—emphasis on practical. And our budget is already tight so —” “Don’t worry. I’ll handle the startup costs. It’ll come out of my pocket.” “Of course, mom has the final word on something like this,” Bina continued, “but I can’t see her saying no to this—to you, especially. You can do no wrong in her eyes!” Monique’s confident smile faltered a little. “That’s not true, is it?” “Yes, it is. She considers you the golden child, Peanut.” Bina pointed her finger up at her. “So don’t disappoint her. Don’t fuck this up!” Monique loudly swallowed. “I . . . I won’t.” “Well, it looks like you’ve got a lot of work to get started. Good luck, girl!” Monique slowly backed toward Bina’s opened door. “Yeah, uh, thanks.” She then turned around and headed into the hall, hoping she didn’t just make a huge mistake.

***

The next week seemed to go by at lightning speed. Monique made so many phone calls and wrote so many emails, she lost track. She called venues, costume companies, and lighting companies. She called in favors and reached out to other R&B artists and pop stars, begging them to take part in her impromptu benefit concert. She even had Sonia make phone calls for her. She held several meetings with the Academy staff who wanted to participate in the concert. Bina’s man, Maurice, benevolently agreed to handle the choreography, which was a Godsend. Miss Yvonne and Bina said they would chip in with the stage direction and set design. A few of the other instructors said they would also help. But when it came to pulling it all together, the task was set firmly in Monique’s lap. She held auditions at the school, hoping to recruit the best singers and dancers. It was amazing to see kids so young who were so ionate about everything, even the ones who couldn’t carry a tune to save their lives, or ones who stumbled their way through a kick, ball, change, triple step. Watching them, she had even more respect for what Miss Yvonne had been doing for the past twenty years. She wouldn’t . . . couldn’t let her down. After the third round of auditions that ended mercifully before seven o’clock, Monique tiredly strolled down the hall toward the front lobby, juggling stacks of folders in her arms and her purse on her shoulder. “‘Night, Jackie,” she murmured as she ed the lacquered desk. “See you in the morning.” “Goodnight, Miss Starr!” the receptionist said with a smile and a wave. Monique shoved open the glass door and began to walk toward her rented Mercedes but stopped when she heard someone singing despite the roadway noise. Well, not singing. That wasn’t accurate. They were sangin’! She looked to her left and saw a girl sitting on the curb near the school’s entrance, wearing a leotard and shorts and oversized pink headphones on her ears. A notebook where she’d been doodling was perched on her lap. She was belting out “I’m Every Woman,” with her eyes closed and grooving to the beat as she did it, making her long braids quake and shake around her shoulders. Monique recognized the petite songstress as Justin’s daughter.

Well, look at that! Little Miss Thing can blow, Monique thought with amusement. She strolled toward her. “Does your daddy know you can sing like that?” she asked. The little girl didn’t seem to hear her. She kept singing and shimmying. Monique leaned down and tapped her shoulder, making her yelp and jump in alarm. “I’m sorry, honey. I didn’t mean to scare you!” Monique exclaimed. The little girl yanked off her headphones and stared at Monique in amazement. “Miss Starr? I . . . I didn’t know you were standing there.” “I could tell.” Monique laughed. “I heard you singing and I had to come over. What’s your name again, sweetheart?” “It’s . . . it’s Kayla,” the little girl whispered, lowering her eyes. “I’m sorry I was singing so loud.” “Don’t apologize. You sounded good! Does your daddy know you’ve got pipes like that?” Kayla slowly raised her eyes to peer up at Monique again. Monique didn’t know why she hadn’t recognized the girl’s resemblance to Justin sooner; it was plain as day to her now. She could see it in the girl’s big dark eyes and impossibly long lashes. She could see it in her shy smile. “Daddy likes it when I sing. He says I have a pretty voice.” “You do—and it’s a big voice for such a little person.” Monique took a spot on the sidewalk beside her, grunting as she lowered herself to the cement. She set her folders and purse on her lap. “And you’ve got good control, too. Why haven’t you auditioned for the concert I’m doing? I’ve been holding them all week.” Kayla shrugged. “I didn’t think you would want someone like me.”

“Like you? Why not?” “Because . . . because I’m not that good of a dancer and I’m . . . I’m not a singer.” “Well, I don’t know about you on the dance floor, honey, but you definitely are a singer! I just heard you sing!” Kayla twisted the wire to her headphones around her finger. She gnawed her lower lip. “But I haven’t taken any classes. I’ve never sang in front of people. I mean . . . not on purpose.” “Well, that just takes practice. That’s all! That’s what rehearsals are for.” Kayla pursed her lips. She was starting to look uncomfortable. “Look, I don’t want to pressure you. If you really don’t want to perform, that’s OK, too. I just think a voice like yours shouldn’t be hidden, that’s all.” Kayla stopped twisting the wires. “You really think I could do it. That people wouldn’t laugh at me?” “Of course, they wouldn’t! And if you’re nervous, we’ll rehearse over and over again until the nerves go away. We’ll work on it.” Kayla gave another tentative smile. “O-OK.” Just then, a horn beeped. They both looked up to find a blue Ford Taurus sitting not too far from the curb. The enger window to the Taurus lowered and a pretty dark-skinned woman leaned toward it, frantically waving her hand. “Kay!” the woman shouted. “Kay, come on!” “That’s my mom,” Kayla said, closing her notebook and climbing to her feet. She gathered all her things in her arms and ran toward the car. “Bye, Kayla! Rehearsal starts in two days. I expect to see you there,” she called after her. Kayla turned to her and smiled. “I will, Miss Starr! And thank you!”

Chapter 5

“We’ll have two glazed donuts—one jelly, one cream filled. And two black coffees, please,” the police officer said as she strolled up to the laminate counter. The officer had to shout a little to be heard above the clamor in the pastry shop. It was already filled with almost a dozen other cops who sat along the counter or laughed and talked in the booths near the windows facing the street. The cashier, who had to be no older than 19, nodded and quickly punched her order into the cash . “That’ll be $8.35, ma’am.” The police officer grinned then turned to look over her shoulder at Justin. “Nuuh!” She pointed a finger at him. “Don’t look at me, kid! He’s paying.” Justin rolled his eyes and reached into his back pocket to remove his wallet. “I could’ve sworn I paid the last time, Simone.” Simone laughed. “That’s because you’re such a gentleman.” “A gentleman—or a sucker?” he asked dryly as he handed the cashier two 5 dollar bills. “Is there a difference?” He cocked an eyebrow and she laughed even harder. She nudged him playfully as he took the change the cashier handed to him and she reached for the two Styrofoam cups filled with coffee that now sat on the counter. Maybe she had a point. He was feeling like a bit of a sucker, considering that he hadn’t just paid the last time he and Simone had gotten donuts and coffee, but every time before that, too. He’d also paid for every lunch they’d shared. You’d think he and Simone were dating, but the truth was—they weren’t; they were strictly platonic. It wasn’t like Justin hadn’t tried to take it past that though. It was hard to resist the charms of Patrol Officer Simone Fuller: She was more than easy on the eyes and she had ample curves that even her androgynous police

uniform couldn’t hide. He’d asked Simone out several times and she’d finally relented, going out to a dinner and movie with him. But when he asked her out on a second date, she told him no. “You’re just too nice, Justin,” she’d told him, almost sadly. “Too straight-laced. Too noble.” “Too noble?” he’d repeated back to her with surprise. “Wow, that’s . . . weak. If you don’t wanna go out with me again, that’s all you had to say!” “It’s not weak—it’s the truth! When you told me how much of a bad boy you were when you were younger, I thought we might have a chance, but you’re obviously reformed now.” “Of course, I’m reformed. I’m a cop. So are you!” She’d shrugged. “Sorry, but I like my men rougher around the edges.” “A cop who likes bad boys? That could be a bit of problem, Officer Fuller.” She’d chuckled and held up her hands. “Hey, I’m not defending it in the slightest. I didn’t say it made sense! It’s just how I am.” He’d accepted her explanation, even if her rejection still confused him. They had been just friends ever since. He liked Simone better than he liked most of the other guys on the force. “I’ll go grab us a table, big guy,” she said as she turned and headed across the shop. Justin nodded, watching as the cashier reached into the glass case on the other side of the counter. “You said one jelly, one cream, right?” the kid asked. Justin nodded again. “Yeah, that’s it,” he answered absently as he glanced down at his hip. His cell was buzzing. He pulled it out of his pocket, hoping to see his real estate agent calling him. He and the seller had been going back and forth

over the price of the house in Fairfax County. They were only $30,000 apart at this point, and he was hoping that the seller would just accept his counter-offer so they could close on the deal. But when he stared at the screen, he saw it wasn’t his agent. He inwardly groaned when he realized it was his ex-wife, Evelyn, and he doubted it was a friendly call. Though Justin was always polite to her, had never been behind on his child , saw their daughter regularly, and gave Evelyn money whenever she needed it, the woman was usually curt when she talked to him. Sometimes, she could get downright nasty. He suspected she would always be angry at him for asking for a divorce. She hadn’t wanted the marriage to end—not because she was still in love with him, but he suspected she had been comfortable with being married, with the security that came with knowing she was Mrs. Justin Mailer. Now she didn’t have that title or security anymore. The life of a single mother wasn’t the life she’d expected, but he knew that for their marriage to work, he essentially would have had to become her doormat. He wasn’t willing to do that. “Hey, Lyn, what’s up?” he said after pressing the green button on his screen. “What time are you bringing back your child tonight? She has to be up early tomorrow and I can’t have you bringing her home late like you always do!” Justin pursed his lips and told himself to count to ten before he responded. There was no point in arguing with Evelyn. It only seemed to fuel her anger and nastiness. And he worried that sometimes she took out that anger on Kayla when he wasn’t around. “I can bring Kay home whenever she needs to be home. What time would you like her back?” “Eight o’clock . . . no, 8:30. And no later, Justin!” “Fine. Okay, I’ll bring her home by 8:30 at the very latest.” He paused. “Is that it?” “No, that is not it!” Evelyn snapped. “I wanted to tell you, too, to pick her up next Wednesday from MacLaine Academy instead of school, like you usually do. She should be done at around six o’clock.” He muttered thanks to the cashier who handed him his bag of donuts. He then

turned away from the counter. “Done with what? Ballet? When did she start having dance classes on Wednesdays?” “She doesn’t have dance classes on Wednesdays! She’s doing some play. Kayla said that singer Monique Starr is organizing it. Can you believe that? The Monique Starr! She said she picked her out specifically to be in it.” Justin paused midway to the table where Simone sat waiting for him. “What?” he asked, hoping that he hadn’t heard Evelyn correctly. He had never told his ex-wife about his past relationship with Monique. He still hadn’t told Kayla the full truth either about the pop star. He didn’t think he would need to tell them. He’d hoped that Monique would be far away from here by now, back in L.A., but he guessed that hope was misguided. Goddamnit, he thought. Justin was just trying to put the past behind him, and yet he seemed to be hearing Monique’s name constantly nowadays. It was alarming how triggering it still was. “I said Monique Starr handpicked her to be in the play. Kayla’s even singing a solo!” Evelyn gushed, sounding almost giddy. “I knew it! I knew my baby would be a big star someday. Folks better recognize!” He squinted in disbelief. Wasn’t this the same woman who didn’t want Kayla to take singing lessons because she thought Kayla’s time would be better spent with an activity like dancing that would help her lose weight? Funny how quickly her opinion changed once Monique gave Kayla an empty compliment and a little part in a play. “Look . . . uh . . . I’ve gotta go. I’ll . . . I’ll talk to you later. OK, Lyn?” “Oh . . . well, OK. Just make sure you bring her back on time like I said, Justin! I won’t—” He didn’t give Evelyn a chance to finish her lecture. He hung up before she could. For some reason, hearing the news that Monique had recruited Kayla to do a

solo performance, irritated him more than Evelyn’s usual rudeness. In fact, it more than irritated him; it made him angry. He slowly crossed the distance left between him and the table where Simone sat. As he approached, she turned away from the floor-to-ceiling windows and peered up at him uneasily. “What?” she asked, frowning and lowering the Styrofoam cup from her mouth. “Did they get our order wrong?” “No,” Justin answered quietly, sitting down in the chair facing her. “Then what the hell happened? Why do you look so pissed?” He shoved the bag of donuts toward her and loudly swallowed. He didn’t know how to put it into words, how to explain the emotions that were overwhelming him right now. They didn’t seem logical, but he felt them all the same. “My daughter got a part in play at her dance school,” he began, making Simone raise her brows. “Well . . . that’s . . . good, isn’t it? I don’t have kids, but I have a little sister and I’d be pretty damn happy if she got a part in a school play.” She snorted. “It would finally mean she’s got her shit together. I’d do back flips!” “It would be a good thing, but the person putting on the play at my daughter’s school is an ex-girlfriend of mine from . . . from a long time ago.” Simone shrugged. “OK. So why is that a problem? Are you worried she’ll be mean to Kayla?” “No. I’m worried she’ll be the exact opposite. She’ll be nice . . . even charming. She’ll win Kayla over and make her fall in love with her.” Simone continued to stare at him blankly as she reached into the donut bag, not even bothering to mask the confusion on her pretty face. “And then when she does fall for her, she’ll drop her like a hot potato and move on. That’s what my ex kinda does. It’s what she’s always done.”

Simone had been about to bite into one of the donuts but stopped. “So you’re worried Kayla will be disappointed?” “And hurt. That’s . . . That’s what my ex does, too. She uses people to feed her ego then throws them away when they aren’t useful anymore. I’m worried she’ll hurt Kayla in the end.” “But your ex might not do that, Justin. Maybe she did stuff like that a long time ago, but she might not be that person anymore. People change! You’ve definitely changed since then, right? You told me you used to be pretty rough and rowdy. You aren’t anymore!” “Yeah, I’ve changed a lot, but I doubt Monique has . . . and if she has changed, it’s probably not for the better.” He’d bet that those years in Hollywood and working in the entertainment industry had made Monique even more ruthless and callous, not less. “You sure you aren’t reading more into this than what it is? I mean . . . she could just want her to sing a solo—and that’s it! That’s all this could be.” He loudly exhaled. “That could be the case. But maybe it’s not. She’s a young kid and impressionable, Simone. I don’t know if I even want to take that chance with her.” Again, he ed what he’d been like when Monique first left. If it wasn’t for the intervention from a family friend, he’d probably be in a cell right now instead putting criminals in them. Kayla wouldn’t be anywhere near that bad if she got attached to Monique and she disappointed her, but he knew how sensitive his little girl was. It wouldn’t be pretty. “So what are you gonna do?” Simone finally bit into her donut. “Tell Kayla she can’t be in the play? Won’t that make you the bad guy?” Justin shook his head again, feeling his anger dissipate and resolve set in. “I’m not gonna tell her she can’t be in the play—Monique is.” “Monique, your ex? And how are you going to get her to do that?” Simone asked between chews.

He reached for the donut bag and shrugged. “I’ll have a little talk with her.” “A little talk?” Simone chuckled. “Oh, this should be good! How are you planning to handle that? You’re so damn polite!” “I can be intimidating when I need to be, Simone. There are plenty of dudes around here who’ve seen me as Mr. Nice, Friendly Police Officer and try to talk smack to me—and get their feelings hurt.” “They get more than just their feelings hurt! I still the dude you had crying last year.” “He was beating up on his wife and kids. He deserved to have a little fear of God scared into him,” Justin said casually as he tugged out the remaining donut and bit into it. The taste of sugar and blackberry jelly filled his mouth and he almost smiled. “Well, don’t make her cry, but don’t be afraid to get your point across if you really feel it’s what’s best for Kayla.” Justin sucked the glaze off of one of his fingers. “Trust me. I got this.”

Chapter 6

Monique sat at the piano, wincing a little as the students, ranging in ages from 12 to 17, reached the end of the chorus. She leaned back on the bench and tilted her head. “Really, y’all?” she asked with raised brows. “Are you really going to butcher the song like that?” Some of the kids looked at her sheepishly. Others lowered their eyes to their feet. She had started practices for the benefit concert, and now Monique was beginning to wonder if Bina had been right: she’d set too high a goal for too short a time. Though the children had been eager to participate, knowing that some stars would be attached, it was obvious they needed a lot of work to do their performances well. Not to mention that Monique was struggling to get big names on board that she had boasted about to Bina. She had reached out to several music artists whom she knew personally, and either they had given excuses for why they couldn’t do the concert, or they had replied with vague answers like, “I’ll have to check my schedule,” and “I’ll see what I can do.” The whole project was starting to get overwhelming. The only two things that kept her from throwing up her hands was her natural pig-headedness—and the fact she had made a promise to Miss Yvonne that she would do it. She didn’t want to disappoint the older woman. “Look, I’m not allowing y’all to embarrass me,” Monique continued, scanning the kids’ faces, looking several of them in the eyes. “If you’re going to do it, you better do it right! OK? Or you’re just wasting your time and mine.” A few replied with a half-hearted “OK.” The rest nodded. One sucked his teeth and rolled his eyes. “And if any of you have an attitude about what I just said, that’s fine,” she began in a louder voice. “So be it! Use that anger to fuel your performance. If you’re angry at me, then project it in your voice. Push it out, because right now some of

you are sounding pretty damn weak.” She cracked her knuckles. “OK, let’s take it from the—” Monique was stopped by a knock at the studio door. The door creaked open and she saw the Academy’s receptionist, Jackie, standing in the doorway. “I’m sorry to interrupt you, Miss Starr, but you have someone waiting upfront who said they need to speak with you.” Monique frowned. “Speak with me?” Jackie nodded. “Right now?” Jackie nodded gravely. Monique’s frown deepened. She wondered who was in such a hurry to see her. It wasn’t Sonia, was it? Her manager hadn’t flown all the way from Cali to D.C. because another catastrophe had happened back home, had she? What had Don E done this time? Monique reached for her cell in the back pocket of her jeans and tugged it out, expecting to find some frantic message from Sonia. She checked the screen. No, no messages for once. “All right,” she said, tucking her phone back into her pocket. She glanced at the students. “OK, guys, I’ll be back shortly. Do some vocal warm ups while I’m gone. When I come back, I want you guys sounding a lot better than you do right now. In fact, I want you to blow me away because I know . . . I know you can do it.” She stood from the bench and walked toward the door, shutting it behind her. “Again, I’m sorry, Miss Starr,” Jackie began as they walked swiftly down the hall toward the lobby. “I told him you were busy with the kids, but he said he just had to talk to you! He wouldn’t hear any different.” “He?” Monique repeated back to her, now even more confused, but when her

eyes settled on the man standing near the lacquer desk, she halted in her steps. Her frown disappeared and a smile slowly crept to her lips. It was Justin. She hadn’t seen him in person in weeks, not since the first day she’d arrived back at the Academy. But she had seen him several times since then in her dreams; he had appeared in them almost on a daily basis. Justin was no longer the young man she once knew and loved, but a handsome musclebound cop, and in her nighttime fantasies she imagined all the naughty things such a man could do to her with that body and those handcuffs that now dangled from his hip. It didn’t matter that he was the father of an adorable nine-year-old. It didn’t matter that he was probably very married, too. The fantasies would not cease. And now Justin was standing in front of her again, and though she was smiling, he certainly wasn’t. He actually looked angry . . . no, he looked furious. When she drew near him and Jackie sat back down in her rolling chair, Justin pushed himself away from the receptionist desk and locked his thumbs in his belt. He glared at Monique like some gunslinger meeting his adversary at high noon. Monique glanced over her shoulder to make sure there was no one else standing behind her whom he was really giving the evil eye to because he couldn’t possibly be giving it to her. She hadn’t done anything wrong. But no one else was lingering there. Monique’s confusion returned, along with a sense of unease. “Hey, Justin,” she began tentatively. “Good to see you again. How have you—” “What’s this I hear about you putting Kayla in your little play?” She raised her brows. “Ex-excuse me?” “Kayla . . . my daughter,” he said in a louder voice, taking another step toward her. “Or have you forgotten her name already?” “I know who Kayla is,” she replied tightly. “And it’s not a ‘little play.’ It’s a benefit concert to help raise money for the Academy, and yes, she’s in it. She has a great singing voice and she was excited to—” “I don’t care what she was excited to do. She’s not going to be in it. Just give her

part to someone else.” Monique squinted. “But why? She is really talented, Justin! With some coaching and practice, I could help her—” “No,” he said firmly, shaking his head. “No! She’ll get all the practice and coaching she wants and needs, but not from you.” He jabbed his finger at her. “You hear me?” Jackie was pretending like she wasn’t listening to their conversation, but even her eyes went wide at that pronouncement. Monique was dumbstruck. “And from now on, keep your distance from her. She’s an innocent kid who gets easily attached. I don’t want her feelings to get hurt. I don’t want her to be disappointed either.” He pursed his lips. “That’s all I had to say. You can go back to whatever you were doing.” He then turned slightly and nodded at Jackie. “Thank you for your help.” “Umm, no problem, officer,” Jackie whispered. Monique was still mute with shock as she watched Justin head back to the Academy’s front door. But when he opened the door and walked onto the sidewalk, something clicked inside her. She wasn’t mute anymore. She balled her fists at her sides. She gritted her teeth. “Wait! Wait just one goddamn minute!” she yelled before charging at the door and shoving it open. She stormed into the parking lot and stomped toward Justin just as he was swinging open the door to his cruiser. “Who the hell do you think you’re talking to?” she yelled at him, making him pause. “Excuse me?” he asked, slamming the driver’s side door shut. His tone was icy and so was his stance. She suddenly became very aware of the fact that this wasn’t the Justin of her youth. He was a cop—an intimidating one at that, but she wouldn’t back down. She had to know why he was behaving this way. “How dare you act like I’m some . . . some damn pedophile, Justin! Telling me

to stay away from your daughter like I would really hurt her! What kind of shit was that?” He exhaled, making his shoulders sag. He lowered his eyes then raised them again to look at her. “You may not want to hurt her, Monique. But that’s exactly what you would do in the end. I know you.” “What?” she cried. “I don’t even—” “It’s just what you do.” He held up his hand. “Look, I get that you’re focused on your music. It’s what made you who you are today. I understand that. In some ways, I even ire that kinda drive. But what you need to understand is that you can’t just pick people up, then toss them aside whenever the hell you feel like it. You especially can’t do that with these kids,” he said, glancing at the Academy’s exterior. “It takes them longer to bounce back. I know it would take its toll on Kayla, so I’m just trying spare her the frustration and heartache. You get what I’m saying?” “No! I don’t get what you’re saying! Who the hell did I toss aside like they didn’t matter?” He cocked an eyebrow. “Well, your friends, for one. Your family, too. You even did it to me, Monique.” She fell silent. She slowly shook her head. So that’s what he’d thought all this time? That she had walked out on him? That she had deserted him? “I didn’t . . . I didn’t toss you aside, Justin! I just . . . I just—” “You just disappeared one day to California and I never heard from you again,” he said dryly. “I didn’t just disappear! You always knew where I was, and you knew how to reach me. My cell number and my email address didn’t change! Besides, I told you that I wanted to go out there, and I wanted you to come with me. But you were going through your own thing! ? You were constantly getting into trouble! You’d already stayed back twice and you still didn’t know if you were gonna graduate! You weren’t ready, and I couldn’t continue to put my life

and my dreams on hold just because you—” “Monique. Monique,” he said patiently, holding up his hand again, “as far as I’m concerned, that’s all water under the bridge. It happened years ago. I’ve moved on. But what’s happening with Kayla is right here, right now. And I’m not going to allow it to happen to her.” But I wouldn’t hurt her, Monique wanted to shout. She wanted to scream it at him. But he wasn’t yelling so she couldn’t either. He was showing her a cool detachment that he would show a total stranger. He was acting like he had just pulled her over to write her a traffic ticket and was about to send her on her merry way. Monique felt like her mouth and her body were bound by anger and frustration. She felt like leather straps were keeping her silent and immobile and cement was fusing her to the spot where she stood. Impotent rage . . . that was the emotion she felt right now. It made every nerve ending in her body tingle and her throat go dry. “I’m glad we understand each other. You have a nice day now,” he said casually. He even had the nerve to give her a polite smile before opening his patrol car door and climbing inside. Fuck you, Justin, she thought as she crossed her arms over her chest. She watched as he pulled off and drove away.

*** “What are you doing?” Bina asked as she walked into the lounge and found Monique pounding her fists against the plexiglass front of the vending machine. “This damn thing stole my money! It stole my money!” Monique yelled. “I wanted M&Ms and it stole all my goddamn change!” After her confrontation with Justin, Monique had barely managed to hold onto

the reins of control as she finished practice with the kids, but she couldn’t hold it any longer. She was taking out her frustrations with food. She didn’t know if it was being back home in D.C. or the fact that she didn’t have a blender nearby, but instead of wanting to starve herself and down lots of wheatgrass smoothies, she wanted to eat. She wanted to eat a lot. She had already finished two bags of potato chips and a pack of sunflower seeds. Now she had moved on to candy, but the vending machine was thwarting her. Bina glanced at the cellophane remains and crumbs that were now on the table. “Well, don’t break the damn thing, Peanut. Maybe someone else wants to eat something too!” “Stop calling me fucking Peanut!” she yelled. “I hate that name!” Bina blinked in surprise. “Since when?” “Since forever! I’ve always hated it. It makes me feel fat and stupid and . . .” Her words drifted off. She turned away from the vending machine and dropped her face into her hands. “Look, I’m sorry for calling you peanut,” Bina said softly, placing a hand on her shoulder. “I wouldn’t have done it if I knew you felt that way about it. Really. I’m not trying to upset you.” Monique lowered her hands from her face. When she did, she realized she was crying. Her mascara was likely running. She bet she looked absolutely horrible, but for the first time in years, she didn’t care. “That’s not why I’m upset,” she whispered then sniffed. “Then why are you upset?” Bina asked, rubbing her shoulder. When Monique continued to weep silently, Bina gestured to the chairs at the nearby table. “Come on. Let’s sit down and talk. OK?” Both took a seat. Bina reached for a stack of napkins from the dispenser and handed her a few. Monique wiped her eyes and loudly blew her nose. “Now tell me what’s wrong. What happened?” Bina asked, squinting at her. Monique took a deep breath and twisted her napkin in her hands. “Justin Mailer

stopped by the Academy today. He wanted to speak with me.” “Your ex, Justin?” Monique nodded. “OK, well, I’m guessing this wasn’t a social visit. What did he want to talk about?” “I was going to have his daughter sing a solo at the concert. And not only did he tell me not to let her do it, but he also told me to keep my distance from her. Like I’m some damn criminal!” “Why on earth would he tell you that?” “He said he didn’t want her to get attached. He said I would hurt her in the end because I toss people aside all the time. Can you believe that shit? I mean the damn nerve! I don’t toss people aside. He’s just projecting and putting all the blame on me because he and I didn’t work out!” Bina bit down on her bottom lip. She shifted her gaze to the wall beside them. “What?” Monique asked, narrowing her eyes at her. Bina shook her head. “Nothing.” “No, tell me! Do you think I toss people aside, Bee? Am I really like that?” Bina met her gaze again. She opened her mouth then closed it. “Well,” she began tentatively, “you do have a history of . . . of moving on quickly.” “Moving on quickly?” “You just never seemed to be invested in maintaining long-term relationships, Monique. Even when we were kids, Jen and I knew where your real focus was. You wanted to be a star. That’s what you always wanted! Relationships kind of came second to that. We understood.” “That’s not true, Bee! You’re making me sound like I’m obsessed or something! You’re making our childhood friendship sound totally one-sided! I loved you

guys. I still do!” “That may be the case, but you have an awful funny way of showing it, girl.” Monique dropped her eyes to the tabletop. She lowered her head. “Look, I’m not trying to hurt your feelings,” Bina said, reaching across the table to clasp her hand. “I’m just telling you the truth. I don’t think you’re obsessed, but I always knew you were very driven. Nothing would get in Monique Neumann’s way—people included. Monique stands on her own.” Bina said those words almost with a note of pride, but they sent a chill up Monique’s spine. She tried desperately to think of examples that could refute what Bina was saying, but she couldn’t. Besides her manager, publicist, trainer, and part-time assistant, she had no other significant relationships in her life—and all of them were either on her payroll or collected a percentage. She’s pretty much lost all with her family after her mother died. She had no children and she’d never been married. Her most recent boyfriend had been cooked up by her manager and publicist for the gossip blogs. She struggled to think of a friend whom she could count on back in L.A. Not one of the fawning hangers-on who told her how great she was, or industry folks who would smile in her face but stab her in between the shoulder blades as soon as her back was turned—but a true blue friend. She had none. Bina was right; she did stand on her own. “I guess Justin knows all this too,” Bina continued, giving her hand a squeeze, “and even though he understands the situation, he’s worried that his baby won’t. That’s all. Do you see his perspective now?” Monique gradually nodded. “I get it. It still hurts, but I get it.” “So what are you going to do?” Monique shrugged. “I guess I’ll just do what he asked. Doesn’t seem like I have much of a choice.”

Chapter 7

Justin knocked on the apartment door, waited a beat, then knocked again. He was jubilant. His agent had called him earlier that day to tell him that the seller of the home he was trying to buy had finally agreed on his price after weeks of negotiations. Baring anything big popping up during inspections, it looked like he would finally be a homeowner. He was eager to share the good news with Kayla. She would have her own spacious bedroom and a backyard where they could put a playset or trampoline, if she wanted. He could finally get the dog she had been begging him to buy for years. After the second knock, the apartment door in front of him sprung open a few seconds later. He was expecting to see his daughter, Kayla, with her hot pink overnight bag in hand, ready to spend the weekend with her dad, but instead he saw his ex, Evelyn, standing in the doorway—tall and lean with her arms crossed over her chest. She wasn’t a great beauty but she carried herself like one. She also wore enough makeup and nice enough clothes to fool the average guy into believing she was beautiful, but then she’d take off the makeup and lower the sparkling façade and the guy would see the real woman that lurked underneath. Tonight, she wasn’t sparkling though. Evelyn was sans makeup, in a ratty bathrobe, and had a scarf on her head. She also looked more perturbed than she usually did at him. He glanced down at his watch to make sure that he wasn’t late. He wasn’t. In fact, he was five minutes early. So why was she irritated? “Hey, Lyn. Where’s Kayla?” he asked with a smile, glancing over his ex-wife’s shoulder. Even her bad mood couldn’t dampen his good mood today. “She still packing her things?” Evelyn looked him up and down. “I don’t know what you did, but she’s not comin’.”

His smile evaporated. “What do you mean, she’s not coming?” “I mean exactly what I said! She’s not comin’! She doesn’t want to go to your place this weekend. She says she wants to stay home.” “Why? What the hell happened?” Evelyn shrugged. “I don’t know. Something about her life being over because of you. She said now she’ll always be just the fat girl and nothing else.” She loosened her arms from in front of her and fluttered her fingers dismissively. “It was some kinda’ nonsense. I couldn’t make it out since she was crying so much.” Evelyn’s explanation didn’t help in the slightest. It left him even more confused. “Is she in her room?” “Yeah, she is, but—” Evelyn paused mid-sentence as he shoved his way past her. “Oh, hold the hell up! I don’t inviting you in here?” “Kayla! Kayla!” he called out as he walked through the living room and down the short hall leading to the bedrooms, ignoring his ex. He stopped in front of the door that had a lavender and gold sign hanging on the front of it. It showed the word “PRINCESS” with a crown hovering over the top. “Kayla?” Justin called out again then knocked. “Kayla, what’s this I hear about you not going to my place this weekend. Are you OK?” “Go away!” he heard Kayla’s muffled reply. “See, I told you,” Evelyn said smugly, raising her chin. “She doesn’t wanna talk to you.” He narrowed his eyes at his ex-wife, turned back to face the door, and knocked again. “Come on, baby. Talk to me. What’s wrong?” “I don’t wanna talk! You mess up everything!” “What?” He tried the door handle but found that the door was locked. “Kayla, open up. Please? I can barely hear you, honey! Just tell me what happened? What’s wrong?”

For a few seconds, he thought she wasn’t going to answer him. Maybe she would leave him standing with her mother in the hallway long enough so that eventually he would give up, turn around, and go home. But then he heard a series of thumps, like she was stomping across her room. Her door opened and Kayla stood glaring up at him with reddened, puffy eyes, a runny nose, and a trembling bottom lip. She began to sob. He hadn’t seen her this worked up since her gerbil died three years ago. Justin dropped to one knee and knelt in front of her. He ran his palm over her tear-streaked cheek. “Baby, what’s wrong? Why are you crying?” She sniffed and hiccupped. She sniffed some more. “Did you . . . did you tell her not to let me sing?” “What, honey?” “D-did you tell Miss Monique that I couldn’t sing my solo? Did you tell her I couldn’t be in the . . . the fundraiser performance?” she stuttered. At her words, his heart sank. He couldn’t believe Monique had told his daughter what he’d done, but he should’ve anticipated that she would and prepared his response. Stupid of me, he now thought. He hadn’t asked Monique to pull Kayla from the play out of malice. He hadn’t wanted to hurt Kayla, but he should’ve known that a move like that would hurt her. “Do you think I can’t sing, Daddy?” Kayla asked. Her hiccups now transitioned back to sobs. “Is that it? Do you think I can’t do it?” “No, baby! That’s not it. That’s not it at all!” He rubbed her shoulders. “I told you. I love your voice!” “Then why’d you tell her to take me out of the play?” she shouted. “Wait, you told Monique Starr that Kayla couldn’t sing her solo?” Evelyn exclaimed.

Justin cut his eyes up at his ex. “Can you give us a few minutes, Lyn? I’d like to talk to Kayla privately.” She screwed up her face. “Alone? In my own damn home?” “Yes, please? We need just a few minutes. That’s all I’m asking.” Evelyn sucked her teeth in annoyance, but at least she stayed silent when he ushered their daughter into her room. Kayla’s bedroom was decorated in all pastels with frilly curtains and ribbons along the bedspread. A few posters were along the wall: one of Misty Copeland, the other of some singer whose name Justin couldn’t . There were a few photos along her writing desk: Kayla posing by herself, one with her mother, and one with Justin and his mother, Latrice. Kayla slumped onto her bed and Justin took the small chair at the vanity table near her window. When he sat down, he could hear the wood creak and crack under his tall frame. Her cries had finally subsided. She just seemed quiet and sullen now. “Kayla,” he began, “baby, me not wanting you to do that performance has nothing to do with me thinking you aren’t talented enough. I swear.” “So why don’t you want me to be in it if you think I can sing?” she whispered. “I don’t think . . . I know you can sing.” Justin linked his hands in front of him. He grimaced. “I just . . . I just don’t think this thing with Monique is good for you.” “This thing?” “Working with her,” he elaborated. “Her being your voice coach, I mean.” “But Miss Monique said she’d teach me to be even better. She was helping me, Daddy!” “But she’s not the only music teacher you can practice with. There are other teachers! If you want to take lessons . . . if you want to even take private lessons, I’ll make sure that you—”

“I don’t want another teacher! I don’t want private lessons!” Kayla yelled, pounding her fist into her mattress. “I want Monique, Dad!” Justin fell silent and stared at his daughter—at the firm set of her mouth and the determined look in her eyes. He watched as she unclenched her fists and lowered her head. “I really wanted to sing, Daddy,” she whispered between shaky breaths. “And Monique said I could do it. I wanted to . . . I wanted to show people what I could do. That I wasn’t just the fat girl in ballet class who can’t do a plié without sticking out her big butt. I just wanted . . . I just wanted to . . .” She didn’t finish. She started sniffing again and Justin rose from his chair and crossed the few feet between them. He sat on the bed beside her and wrapped an arm around her. She buried her head between the crook of his arm and his side and wept, dousing his T-shirt with her tears. Justin closed his eyes. His little girl seemed to have attached some significance to this performance that went beyond just singing in front of a crowd of people under the watchful eyes of a pop music idol. He hadn’t known that she saw herself as just “the fat girl in ballet class who can’t do a plié without sticking out her big butt.” What other disparaging things had she thought about herself but hadn’t told her father? This performance was obliviously a confidence boost she sorely needed. And despite his worry and misgivings, he didn’t want to take it away from her. “OK, honey. You can . . . you can be in the play. If that’s what you really want.” Kayla slowly raised her head to look up at him. She shifted back. “Really, Daddy?” “Really.” He nodded. “I you, sweetheart. I’ll be right there in the audience cheering you on.” Kayla lowered her head again. “But Miss Monique already kicked me out. I think she already gave my part to—” “Don’t worry about it,” he assured, rubbing her arm and pulling her closer. “She’ll give you your part back. Daddy will take care of it. OK?”

She eyed him, like she didn’t quite believe him, but gradually she nodded. “OOK, Daddy.”

***

At noon the next day, instead of heading to the diner near his station where he usually grabbed a BLT with fries and coleslaw for lunch, Justin drove to MacLaine Academy. When he opened the glass door and strolled to the front desk, the receptionist looked up from a magazine she had been flipping through. The moment she saw him, she sat ramrod straight in her chair and slapped the magazine closed. “H-Hello, Officer Mailer! How can I help you t-t-today?” she asked, sounding a tad bit nervous. He wondered if his behavior the last time he’d spoken with her, when he had his confrontation with Monique, was the reason for her anxiousness. He forced a smile to let her know he came in peace this time around; he wasn’t here to castigate anyone. “Hi, uh . . . Jackie, is it?” The woman nodded. “Jackie, is Ms. Starr around? I wanted to speak with her if she’s available.” Jackie blinked. “She . . . she just headed out to lunch. She should be back in a bit though.” “Oh.” He pursed his lips. He should’ve anticipated that. “Well, I guess I can come back later when it’s a—” “She really should be back soon,” Jackie explained. “She didn’t go far. Just to that little sandwich shop around the corner. She usually grabs her food and comes back here to eat it.”

He glanced at the glass door. “The one around the corner, you said?” She nodded again. “It’s only about a block from here . . . near the corner of 8th and T. They make a mean pork belly sandwich if you’re interested.” Justin chuckled and nodded as he walked back toward the entrance. “I’ll check it out.” It didn’t take long to find the shop—it as exactly where Jackie said it would be, and the shop’s bright orange awning was like a beacon that he couldn’t ignore even if he wanted to. It didn’t take him long to find her either. Though the small sandwich shop was filled with more than a dozen patrons, all clustered and sweaty in a haphazard line around the counter and near two refrigerators filled with drinks along the wall, he spotted Monique instantly. She was staring down at her cell phone screen with her brows furrowed in concentration. She didn’t look up when he entered the shop. When he saw her, his stomach clenched—a pesky habit he desperately wished would end. She didn’t look that glamorous today. She wore a simple black T-shirt and jean shorts. Her hair was pulled up into a ponytail and she wore dark aviator sunglasses. In fact, she looked so unassuming that most of people in the shop wouldn’t recognize her as the songstress who had a few Billboard hits and performed at the BET Awards. But to Justin, she may as well have been walking around with a spotlight hovering over her; he’d spot Monique anywhere. And to him, she was still sexy as all get out. He watched as she looked up from her phone when the cashier shouted out a number. She smiled as she sauntered to the counter, taking the plastic bag that the cashier held out to her. She then walked to one of the refrigerators, slid open the door, and bent down to stare at a line of bottled drinks, giving him a perfect view of her ass. Justin grinned. It wasn’t quite as plump and round as he ed it being more than a

decade ago, but it wasn’t bad either. “Can I help you, officer?” the cashier called out to him. “Picking up an order?” Justin tore his eyes away from Monique’s rear end, just as Monique raised her sunglasses to her crown and pivoted slightly to look up at him. When she saw him, her brown eyes widened. She almost dropped the bottle of Diet Coke she held, but caught it before it hit the tiled floor. “Uh, no,” Justin said to the cashier while still staring at Monique. “I’m not picking up anything. I’m just meeting someone.” Monique slowly stood upright, still staring at him. “Justin?” “Hey,” he said, walking toward her. She squinted up at him warily as he approached. “What . . . what are you doing here?” “I wanted to talk to you.” “Again?” She tucked the bottle under her arm. “It’s not about Kayla, is it? Because she’s not performing in the—” “Yeah, about that . . . uh . . .” He glanced over his shoulder at the busy shop and felt the weight of numerous eyes now on them. “I was wondering if maybe I could talk to you . . . well . . . privately.” At that, her face changed. The hesitant expression disappeared and was replaced with a defiant one. She cocked her head. “Oh, now you wanna talk about it privately? You didn’t have a problem dragging me in front of Jackie and anyone else who happened to be walking through the lobby almost a week ago!” He pursed his lips and loudly blew air through his nostrils. “I didn’t drag you. I was just trying to—” “Yes, you did,” she said firmly, cutting him off. “And as far as I’m concerned, there’s nothing else to talk about, Justin. You made your feelings about me . . . about me working with your daughter quite clear. I backed off like you asked. So if you’ll excuse me.” She thumped him on his shoulder and beamed. “You have a

nice day now.” She then lowered her sunglasses over her eyes, walked around him, and out the front door of the shop onto the sidewalk. Through the glass door, Justin watched as Monique strolled away with her purse dangling at her elbow and her hair swaying behind her. He gritted his teeth in frustration, rushed to the door, pushed it open, and ran after her. “Hey! Hey, Monique, wait up!” yelled over afternoon traffic. She paused on the sidewalk to glance at him then turned back around and kept walking. He gritted his teeth even harder. Pretty soon, sparks would fly out his mouth. “Monique, stop!” he barked as he continued to trail her. “I’m not under arrest, Officer Mailer!” she sang over shoulder. “I don’t have to stop!” “Monique, just . . . just hear me out!” She continued to ignore him as she made her way back to the Academy. “So that’s it? You’re just gonna be stubborn and ignore me?” he shouted after her. “You’re going to act like I’m not talking to you?” “I’m not your wife, Justin. I don’t have to listen!” “I’m not married—not anymore!” She seemed to hesitate at that. She slowed down her pace, but still didn’t halt completely. “Look, I’m sorry!” he yelled to her. At that, she finally did stop. “If I embarrassed you by what I said to you that day, I’m sorry.”

She turned around completely to look at him and whipped off her sunglasses. She stomped toward him. “There’s no ‘if.’ You did embarrass the shit out of me!” “That’s why I’m apologizing,” he said as she drew closer. “And you hurt my feelings. You never told me you felt that way! You’ve really been thinking that shit about me all these years? You really thought I used you and dumped you?” Justin fell silent. He’d come here to talk about Kayla and the play, not about his past relationship with Monique. “Like I said before,” he began, no longer able to meet her penetrating gaze, “all that stuff is water under the bridge as far as I’m concerned. I’ve moved on and —” “No, it isn’t water under the bridge if you were banning me from being around your daughter! It isn’t water under the bridge if you don’t think—” “This your new man, Monique?” someone shouted, making both Monique and Justin whip around to face the busy city street. When they did, they saw a man in cargo shorts and a stained gray t-shirt, slamming shut the door to an SUV and striding across the roadway. He was holding a camera. Justin could hear the fast click of the shutter as the photographer snapped photo after photo, even as he jogged. “Got a thing for cops now, huh?” the photographer asked. “Jesus,” Monique groaned as she put back on her sunglasses. “Why are you here? Just go away!” “What? Don’t want the world to know you’ve moved on from Don E, sweetheart?” he taunted as he continued to snap their picture. “He’s getting his groove on with other men, why shouldn’t you? Come on! Don’t be shy! Give the cop a little kiss. Show Don E what he’s missin’, baby!” Justin watched as the photographer laughed and Monique’s expression changed. She looked mortified. He held his hand in front of the camera lens, making the photographer take a step back and let out a yelp of outrage as he dropped the camera to his chest.

“I believe the lady told you to go away. I suggest you leave her alone,” Justin said. “Hey, it’s a free country!” The photographer sneered. “I ain’t touchin’ her. She’s on a public street. I can snap her photo if I want! I know my rights.” Justin glanced at the man’s SUV. “You’re right. It is a public street—and you’re illegally parked. According to that sign, there’s no parking between 8 a.m. and 2 p.m. on weekdays and my watch,” Justin glanced down at his wristwatch, “says it’s not even 1 o’clock. So I suggest you stop taking her picture and run over there and remove your car right now, or I can have it towed in three minutes flat.” He pasted on a grin. “And let me tell you. The parking fines around here are pretty steep.” The photographer took a nervous glance over his shoulder at his car. “So you’ve got to the count of twenty to move it, or I’m calling it in.” The photographer began to sputter helplessly. “B-but . . . but it was th-the only spot I c-c-could find on—” “One . . . two . . . three . . . four,” Justin began to count. He and Monique watched as the photographer scrambled across the street, almost getting hit by a Volkswagen Beetle as he ran. A few seconds later he threw open the door to his Jeep Cherokee and hopped onto the driver’s seat. He gunned the engine and pulled off with tires squealing. “Thanks,” Monique whispered, watching as the car drove off. Justin turned away from the roadway and faced her again. “No problem. That guy was an asshole. Sorry he was bothering you.” She shrugged. “I’m used to it. The paparazzi used to follow me around in L.A., but frankly, I’m surprised to see them out here. Don’t know why they would travel this far just for me.” “Just for you?” He cocked an eyebrow. “Are you joking?” “What do you mean?”

“I mean you’re a big deal, Miss Starr. I’d think people would always be taking your picture.” “I’m not as big as you might think.” She sighed and looked off into the distance. “I’ve been going through . . . well . . . kind of a rough patch lately with my music and my career. If it wasn’t for my latest embarrassment, I doubt they’d care about me at all.” A rough patch? Justin found that hard to believe. Celebrities like Monique didn’t have rough patches, did they? Or if they did, it certainly wasn’t anything normal folks like him would get worked up about. He cleared his throat, trying to return their conversation to the topic at hand, the reason why he’d followed her in the first place. “Look . . . uh, the last time we spoke . . . I came at you all wrong. It was messed up. I . . . I want to apologize.” “Apology accepted,” she blurted out, catching him off guard. “So . . . so I wondered if maybe we could talk about it,” he continued. “I know I asked you to pull Kayla from the play, but I wondered if maybe you could reconsider it if—” “It’s a benefit concert, not a ‘play,’ as you keep referring to it, Justin. And yes, I’m willing to talk about giving her solo back to her,” she said, taking another step toward him. Once again, he was surprised at her readiness to be so forgiving. He’d expected to have to work harder for this. He thought he might have to beg. “You will?” “Yeah, I will . . . we can talk about it over dinner. You can pick me up at eight.”

Chapter 8

Justin’s mouth opened and closed like a fish on a hook. He was obviously struck speechless by her little proposal. Monique had certainly surprised herself with that one. She didn’t know what had possessed her to suggest they have dinner. She didn’t need him to convince her to let Kayla be part of the benefit concert. The little girl was a natural talent and she’d happily give her back her solo. She also didn’t know why she’d confessed to him that she had “hit a rough patch lately.” She hadn’t told anyone else the truth about her ailing music career since she’d arrived back in D.C. She’d kept up the façade of the famous, successful Monique Starr and had no intention of removing it—until she did with Justin. Maybe it was the element of surprise. She hadn’t expected to see him standing behind her in the sandwich shop, looking all hot and commanding in his uniform. Or maybe it was witnessing him come to her defense. She had to it she was awed at the way he’d handled the photographer. It reminded her of the old Justin who’d always had her back. It warmed her heart—and turned her on. “You . . . you want to go out to dinner?” he repeated, still looking confused. She nodded and smiled. “You can pick me up or we can meet there. Whatever works best.” She fluttered her fingers. “Get out your phone and I’ll type in my address and number. I’m just off of H Street.” He automatically began to reach for his cell phone in his back pocket but paused, frowned, and shook his head—like he suddenly realized what he was doing. “Wait. Wait a minute! I can’t go to dinner with you!” “Why not? You busy tonight?” “No, I’m not . . . I’m not busy but . . . but . . .” His voice drifted off. “Would your girlfriend have a problem with it?” she ventured. She was relieved

to hear he wasn’t married, but he could very well be in a serious relationship with someone else. He shook his head. “I’m single. That’s not the issue.” “Then what is it?” she persisted. He still didn’t answer her. “Look, Justin, we obviously have some shit to hash out, and we should hash it out, especially now that I’ll be working with your daughter. I don’t want you secretly hating me.” “I don’t hate you, Monique,” he said tersely. Could’ve fooled me, she thought, observing how flustered and annoyed he looked at that moment. “Things didn’t end between us on . . . well . . . good . I realize that now,” she began. “I think we should talk about it—like adults. So that there isn’t any misunderstanding or bad feelings anymore. I would do it right now, but I have a ton of stuff to finish up this afternoon. We could do it over the phone, but I thought it might be nice to do it in person. To have a civilized dinner together so I can explain myself . . . so you can explain why you feel the way you feel. That’s all.” In her mind, she patted herself on the back for that one. Bina would also be proud at how mature she was behaving right now, how rational. When he continued to stare at her uneasily, like he was trying to spot some ulterior motive in her proposal, she pursed her lips and dropped a hand to her hip. “Just think of this as a way to get some closure, Justin.” “So that’s what you want? Dinner and closure?” Is that really all she wanted? Looking at him, Monique felt the slight pangs of longing. Maybe she did want

something more from Justin. Her relationship with him had been, by far, the most intense and memorable relationship she’d had her entire life. Every man since him, she had secretly compared to him on some level and, truthfully, no man she’d dated had ever held a candle to him. And she’d had her fair share of music moguls, handsome actors, and sexy models as companions. But she wasn’t offering to have dinner with Justin to rekindle their romance—even if that’s what she secretly desired. He obviously wasn’t interested in her in that way anymore, and she wasn’t in the business of trying to seduce men who weren’t attracted to her. But the idea that he was so hurt and angry with her all these years and she hadn’t known it still nagged at her. Even if Bina had tried to give a possible explanation for why Justin felt the way he felt, Monique wanted to hear the reasons from his own mouth. Finally, Justin exhaled making his shoulders sink. “OK, I’ll pick you up at eight.” He reached for his back pocket again, this time pulling out his cell. “Give me your address.”

***

When she heard the knock at her door, Monique rushed into the hall, scampering over Brazilian hardwood in her stilettos. She paused to check her reflection in the hallway mirror, smoothing her hands over the front of her purple halter dress, brushing her hair off her bare shoulders, leaning over to adjust her breasts so the girls were high, prominent, and on full display. She then stopped all her preening. Her shoulders slumped. “What am I doing?” she murmured. This wasn’t a date. There was no reason to agonize over what to wear and how to style her hair. There was no reason to spray perfume on her neck and behind her knees, or wear a lacy thong. She could have worn cotton, hole-riddled granny panties tonight; it wouldn’t have mattered. They were just going to talk about the past and attempt to rectify their issues. Nothing romantic or sexual was going to happen, but that didn’t stop the butterflies of anticipation from fluttering in her stomach.

She turned away from the mirror, took a steadying breath, unlocked her front door, and swung it open. Justin had been staring into space as he waited. Now he turned to look at her. When he did, the butterflies started fluttering so much she thought they might beat their way out of her stomach. He wasn’t wearing his uniform today. Instead he had on a simple white dress shirt and gray slacks that showed off his muscular frame. The top two buttons of his shirt were open, showing a hint of chest hair that she wanted to reach out and ruffle with her fingernails. Why did he have to look just as good out of uniform as he did in it? “Right on time,” she gushed. He slowly looked her up and down. “You look . . . nice.” She didn’t know what to make of the pause at the end and the way he’d said “nice.” She decided to ignore it and forced a smile. “You look nice too!” “You ready to go? Got everything?” he asked, glancing at the purse dangling on one shoulder and the shawl she had draped over her arm. “Yeah, I’m ready!” She shut and locked the door behind her. They walked down the hall in silence. And they both stayed mostly silent during their drive to the restaurant. She tried more than once to draw him into a casual conversation, but Justin only gave her one- or two-word answers. Despite the uncomfortable ride, she couldn’t deny the feeling . . . the charge she experienced being in the confined compartment with him. It made her tingle all over. As she stole a glance at his profile while he drove, she tried not to let her gaze linger on his full, kissable lips or that strong chin that was begging for a nibble, but she couldn’t help herself. “Do I have something on my face?” he asked casually, finally speaking without prompting.

“Uh, n-no,” she stuttered. “Why?” He looked at her out of the corner of his eye. “You were staring.” “No, I wasn’t!” she exclaimed before guiltily snapping her eyes back toward the windshield and adjusting in her seat. She could’ve imagined it, but she could swear a smile tugged at those full, kissable lips. When they finally arrived at the restaurant, she was almost relieved to get out of his SUV. The tingle that she felt finally dissipated as they walked to the restaurant’s glass doors. He held the door open for her and she stepped inside, refusing to make eye with him. He wouldn’t catch her staring this time. Monique walked up to the counter and gave the maître d’ their reservation. “Who’s Deirdre Simmons?” Justin asked as a waiter led them to their table. “Did she book our reservation?” “No, I usually give a fake name when I make reservations so that I can eat privately.” He squinted at her, looking befuddled. “So the paps don’t show up and ruin the meal,” she elaborated, not telling him about the times she’d purposely let the paparazzi know where she was eating, like that infamous night with Don E. “Sometimes, I’ll even find a fan waiting for me, and not the nice ones—the stalker types. I have to turn around and go home.” “Sounds fun,” he said dryly. “It isn’t.” The waiter gestured to their table, holding out a chair for her. She nodded and mouthed her thanks before sitting down. “The dark side of fame?” Justin asked while pulling out the chair facing her.

“It comes with its pluses and minuses.” She reached for the menu sitting in front of her. The waiter had asked them what drinks they wanted to order. She told him she wanted to review the wine list first. The waiter smiled, said he would return when they were ready, and walked off. “So was it worth it?” Justin asked, leaning back in his chair. Monique’s eyes darted up from the menu. “Huh?” “I said, was it worth it? Was all the fame worth it?” She blinked. So they were going straight to the nitty gritty before she’d even had a glass of merlot? He really wanted to talk about whether the life she had now was worth leaving him behind after he’d barely spoken a word to her for the past thirty minutes? “Uh . . . well, uh . . .” She lowered her menu and cleared her throat. “Was losing your ability to just be a private person . . . to just go to a restaurant and eat dinner worth becoming famous?” he said, sensing her discomfort. “That’s what I meant.” “Oh!” She let out a nervous laugh. “It depends on what day you ask me.” The waiter returned and they gave him their orders. “A Caesar’s salad?” Justin asked, raising his brows when the waiter left again to get their drinks and their meals. “That’s all you want? I thought you might order the Korean BBQ ribs or pork belly. Those used to be your favorites.” “I’m flattered you even ed.” “How could I forget? You used to throw down in the kitchen, too.” She shrugged. “Not so much anymore, though I can make a mean smoothie. I’ve learned not to be so dependent on food. Eat to live, not live to eat—you know? It’s how I lost so much weight, though I’ve put on some since I’ve been back here. I haven’t had much discipline, but I really should get back to my old

routine,” she said, frowning down at herself. She’d been shocked to discover today that she’d put on almost five pounds in the past two and half weeks. She’d barely been able to raise zipper of the dress she now wore. “Why?” His eyes slowly assessed her. “I think you look good with a little more meat on you. You wear it nicely.” Monique’s frown disappeared. She quirked an eyebrow. Was he flirting with her? “Monique? Monique Starr?” someone shouted making her whip her head around. The shout also drew the attention of many of the other diners. Monique watched as a woman stood from her chair and rushed to their table, shoving her way past a waitress as she did it. “Damn! It is you! What are you doing here all the way in D.C.?” Monique didn’t get a chance to answer. The woman pulled her cell phone from her purse, wrapped her arm around Monique’s shoulder, and roughly tugged her toward her in less than ten seconds, catching Monique by surprise. She then held her phone in front of Monique’s face. “I gotta take a picture with you or no one will believe I met you. Say cheese,” the woman ordered just as the camera phone flashed. The woman then turned to the table where she’d been sitting seconds earlier. “Come over here, Phil . . . Janice! Come take a picture with Miss Starr!” Suddenly, their whole table rose to their feet. Other diners stared at her with interest. A few pointed and some even stood and called out to her. Monique was starting to feel cornered. She’d been able to be anonymous for a couple of blissful weeks. Maybe she shouldn’t have dressed up tonight. Maybe she should’ve worn sunglasses and a wig. She raised her hand as a half dozen people began to circle their table. “Please,” she began, “I really am just trying to enjoy my—”

“No more pictures!” Justin shouted, shooting to his feet. He walked around the table to Monique, blocking her from the growing crowd. He held his hand in front of the camera phone of the rude woman who had started the whole thing. “I said no more pictures,” he repeated firmly. “Excuse me?” the rude woman asked, sputtering. “And who the hell are you? Her bodyguard?” “Yes, I am.” He turned to Monique. “Are you ready to go, Miss Starr?” Monique nodded, staring up at Justin in awe. He tugged out her chair and wrapped a strong arm around her protectively when she stood, ushering her through the throng of people and tables to the restaurant’s doors and a purposefulness that made everyone get out of his way. She couldn’t help but lean into him and his warmth as they walked, feeling that pesky tingle and the butterflies in her stomach all over again.

Chapter 9

“Well, that was a bust,” Monique said as they pulled off. Justin had to agree. He knew fame came with its occasional drawbacks, but he’d had no idea it was this bad. He’d imagined Monique’s life was carefree and glamorous. He hadn’t considered that she couldn’t have dinner at a restaurant without people staring at her, or her being harassed by strangers who wanted to take her picture. He hadn’t known that sometimes she couldn’t walk down the street without being followed by photographers who shouted offensive things at her. Justin was starting to feel bad for Monique, which is exact opposite of what he wanted to feel right now. But he guessed that was an improvement over the other emotions he was having. Justin took a side glance at Monique as he drove. His eyes traced the length of her face, sloped down her neck, and lingered a beat too long on the cleavage peaking over the top of her dress. He licked his lips hungrily and turned away, staring at the roadway again. When he’d seen Monique standing in her doorway, looking more scrumptious and decadent than a chocolate éclair, Justin had second guessed himself for agreeing to have dinner with his ex. Seeing her look this good and smell just as nice was a temptation he wasn’t prepared for, but he was battling his desire with everything he had. He knew trying to make a move on Monique was out of the question; there was no way he wanted to entangle himself with this woman again. He wasn’t a dumb, love-struck teenager anymore. “Sorry you didn’t get to eat dinner,” she said. “I really wanted us to have a chance to talk. I was hoping no one would notice me and bother us, but I guess I was wrong.” “I know a place where we can eat and talk. No one will bother us there,” he said out of nowhere, surprising even himself. They’d had to leave the restaurant. This would have been the perfect opportunity to make an excuse to end their night and take her back to her condo. Instead, he

was suggesting extending the night even further. “You do? Where?” she asked. “You’ll find out when we get there, but I’ve gotta warn you. They don’t serve Caesar salad . . . any salads at all. The food is good though.” She seemed to think for a minute before loudly sighing. “OK. It’s not like we have much of a choice anyway. I didn’t make reservations anywhere else. I’m game!” They drove for a few more minutes and finally pulled onto a gravel lot filled with cars and construction equipment. Across the street, a line of five food trucks sat along the curb. Several people huddled in front of each truck, shouting their orders. Monique squinted out the enger window. “Are you serious? This is where you want to have dinner?” “Hey, don’t knock it until you try it!” he said, throwing open his car door. They walked to one of the trucks, a red one with a giant smiling pig on the side. “It smells good at least,” she said as they waited in line, getting a whiff of the smoked pork that snaked its way down the block. “Tastes even better,” he said with a wink. “So how did you find out about this place?” “A lot of cops come here when we’re on duty. It’s a good place to get your food fast when you’re tired of McDonald’s or KFC. Anything we can eat in our patrol cars is a plus.” She slowly shook her head. “I still can’t get over the fact that you’re a cop. I never would have pictured it!” “Me neither, to be honest.” “So how did it happen? You went from damn near getting arrested to arresting

people for a living.” “That’s not all I do, Monique.” “I know! I’m just kidding, Justin, but seriously . . . what changed?” “It’s a long, convoluted story. You wouldn’t be interested.” “I wouldn’t have asked if I wasn’t interested. Besides, we’re waiting here anyway.” She gestured to the four people standing in line in front of them. “We’ve got time.” He took a deep breath and pursed his lips. “Well, about 12 years ago I was with some friends. We’d been hanging out the whole night, getting drunk and doing all types of stupid shit. We met up with a group of boys from the neighborhood and one of them was showing off his new ride. You could tell Javon had stolen it. There was no way he could afford a Lexus, but when Javon asked us if we wanted to ride around town with him, we agreed to go. I shouldn’t have. I knew I shouldn’t have done it, but I did anyway.” “Why’d you do it anyway?” Because I was angry and self-destructive. Because I was devastated you’d left me and went to California and I just didn’t give a shit about anything anymore, he thought, but instead said, “I won’t even bother to explain it. Anyway, we rode around for less than 30 minutes before we saw lights flashing behind us and heard the sirens. So here we were, five teenaged black guys in a stolen car filled with alcohol and weed. Javon knew if we got pulled over, we would get arrested. So he floored it.” “Floored it? You mean—” “I mean he led the cops on a high-speed chase through D.C. and over the state line into Maryland. I was terrified. We were running through lights, barely missing hitting other cars. It seemed like we had about four or five squad cars chasing us. I wasn’t sure if one of the cops was going to try to shoot out the windows or the tires. Finally, Javon circled back to our neighborhood. When he stopped, we all jumped out and ran. I got away, but the rest didn’t. I made it home safe and sound, but my mother knew something was up. I’d come home in the middle of the night, soaked in sweat, looking like I’d just been through hell

and back.” He paused and noticed that Monique was looking up at him, absolutely riveted. “She’d figured out what happened when she heard the news the next day about the high-speed chase, about the arrests. She threatened to turn me into the cops if I didn’t get my act together. I promised her I would. She didn’t believe I could do it on my own, so she had a family friend who ran a sort of juvenile detention center mixed with a boys’ dormitory take me in. The deal was I would stay at the Boys’ Institute there for a couple months. I didn’t want to go but I didn’t know what other choice I had. I didn’t want her to turn me in. So I stayed at the Boys’ Institute for 10 whole weeks. I met kids there that had it a lot worse than me, who came from abusive homes, who had to steal just to have something to eat and something to wear. I realized how fucking stupid I was being. Mr. Theo, the director, made me come up with a plan with what I wanted to do with my life . . . where I wanted to go next. I told him I wanted to study law, of all things. He told me I should try to do that. “So after I left, I got my act together. I got my GED. I went to community college to study law and figured out after taking a few criminal justice classes that I would make a better cop than a prosecutor. I graduated with my associate’s, ed the Metropolitan Police. The rest is history,” he said with a shrug. “Wow. That’s . . . that’s amazing, Justin.” “Not really.” He turned and saw the cashier waving at them. “Looks like we’re up,” he said. He ordered two sodas and Texas pulled pork sandwiches, making Monique whimper. “But my calorie count!” she lamented. “One night won’t kill you.” “I told you I eat to live, not live to eat.” “But good food can make life a lot better!”

She loudly grumbled. “Fine. I guess I can have a few bites. That shouldn’t put me too far over.” He paid for their food and they walked back to his Explorer. He raised his key to unlock the doors but watched in shock as Monique hoisted herself onto the hood and propped her high-heeled feet on the front bumper. “Really?” he asked with amusement, raising his brows at her. “Oh, I won’t scratch your paint. Don’t worry!” “Are you sure you don’t want to eat inside?” He glanced at his windshield. “The leather seats are much more comfortable than this hard-ass hood. Trust me.” “It’s too hot to sit inside a stuffy car tonight! Besides,” she grinned as she looked around her, “it's nice out here. I like the idea of eating in the open with nobody knowing or caring who the hell I am!” He gazed up at the night sky and the dark clouds overhead and handed her one of the pulled pork sandwiches. “They had rain in the forecast though.” “Then if it starts raining, we’ll eat inside! Problem solved.” He continued to eye the sky warily as she began to remove the wax paper wrapping. “You forgot summer storms in D.C. can come in fast. It can go from clear skies to a downpour in less than 60 seconds.” She had been just about to bite into her sandwich but lowered it from her mouth and grumbled. “Is the dad in you kicking in? When did you become such a worrier? The Justin I knew ate outside sitting on a car, an apartment roof, and just about anything else! He didn’t like to play it safe.” “The Justin you knew almost ended up in jail, too. I’m not that dude anymore.” She finally bit into her sandwich. After she did it, she closed her eyes, threw back her head, and let out a long, guttural moan. That moan sounded eerily familiar. He could hearing it many times in

the old days, but she was normally writhing underneath him when she did it. Don’t think about that, he told himself, taking a shuddering breath and trying to push those scalding hot memories out his mind. But it wasn’t easy, not with her sitting there in her halter dress on his hood like some alluring video vixen. Not when his eyes seemed magnetically drawn to those long legs he could having wrapped around him more than a decade ago. Did she still like to be on top? Did she still pound her fists on the mattress when she came? “Oh! Oh, damn!” she said between chews. “This is good! This sandwich is so good!” He chuckled. “I told you it would be.” “Yes, you told me. I didn’t believe you though. It’s a damn food truck, but . . . Oh, God!” She took another bite, letting the delightful ride her taste buds were undertaking overwhelm her. “You know me,” he said, taking a bite of his own sandwich, “I’ll never let you down.” At that, she stopped chewing. She reached for one of the napkins in the paper bag Justin had sat on the hood beside her and wiped sauce from her the corner of her mouth. “But I let you down, right?” He stopped chewing, too. “So we’re back to that, huh?” “That’s why we were going to dinner in the first place. To talk about this stuff. ?” “Yeah, I , but I don’t know why we need to talk about it. I told you, I’m good.” “Just because you say it, doesn’t mean it’s true.” “Well, unlike you, I mean what I say,” he muttered, making her loudly sigh and close her eyes. “That’s bullshit. If you were OK with what went down between us, you wouldn’t keep making little jabs like that!”

He sat down his sandwich, no longer having much of an appetite. He glared at her. “What do you want from me, Monique?” “I want you to be honest . . . to tell me the truth! Do you really think I walked out on you back then? Do you think I deserted you?” He stood quietly for several seconds. “You did what you had to do,” he finally said. “You had a dream and you went after it. I was pretty fucked up back then. I realize that now.” “I wanted you to come with me! I kept calling, asking you to come. You made up excuses. It took you longer and longer to respond to my emails . . . my texts. When I called, I kept getting your voicemail. I tried for damn near a year, Justin! What was I supposed to think? What was I supposed to do?” She was right. He had stopped communicating long before she did. No, not stopped, he thought, correcting himself. He hadn’t been brave enough to do that, to cut the rope tethering them to each other. Instead, he had purposely loosened his grip so much that she’d thought he wasn’t holding on anymore. It was like he had willed her to cut it first. Justin tried to why he’d done it. Maybe it was hearing the hopeful note in her voice back then when she told him about the famous people she was meeting, the auditions she was going on, and the demo tape she was making. It had been like stabbing a knife repeatedly into a wound that had yet to heal. He hadn’t wanted to hear anymore. He didn’t want to know about the exciting life she was having without him when he couldn’t even finish high school because of yet another suspension and a class he failed, when every day seemed dreary and depressing without her. Justin now shrugged. “I guess deep down I knew I would’ve been a deadweight to you in the end. You had to move on from me to be the woman that you are today.” She shook her head, making her hair whip around her shoulders. “I never moved on from you.” He let out a caustic laugh as he rewrapped his sandwich and dropped in into the

paper bag. “Could’ve fooled me. You seem to be doing pretty damn good for yourself, Miss Starr.” “Don’t do that, Justin.” “Don’t do what?” “Stop pulling this ive-aggressive, sarcastic shit with me! I’m being real with you. I never got married like you did. Unlike you, I didn’t have kids!” she said, making him go still. He could see tears in her eyes. “I haven’t had a real relationship in damn near four years. The last relationship I had my manager set up to help build buzz for me, and even that fell apart when his real boyfriend sent a video of them having sex to TMZ. No man has ever compared to you! Not in my eyes. It’s left me stuck in the same damn spot for 12 years, so don’t tell me I fuckin’ moved on!” she snarled as the tears finally spilled onto her cheeks, streaking her face with mascara. “You’re the one who moved on! I never did. I never forgot you!” She hopped off his hood. He stared at her helplessly, unsure of what to say. He had never seen their lives that way. He had always thought of himself as the one who was left behind, whose heart remained in suspended animation, unable to get over her. He never thought her heart was in the same state. He reached out to comfort her just as a lightning bolt etched its way across the sky, the thunder cracked, and the heavens seemed to rip open, soaking them both with torrential rain.

Chapter 10

Monique sat in the enger seat, shivering as Justin drove her back home, and not just because she was soaking wet and the air around her that was hot and humid a minute ago now seemed chillier than a kitchen freezer. She was shivering and her teeth were chattering from the emotional exhaustion that came with laying out all her cards and telling Justin everything she’d felt and been feeling all these years. She’d thought he was the one who needed to get something off his chest. She hadn’t realized she’d needed to do it too. “I can turn down the air conditioning if you’re cold,” he said, pressing one of the buttons on the car’s console, glancing at her worriedly. She didn’t respond. “I should’ve brought an umbrella. It would’ve been good tonight,” he murmured as he drove. Now he was the one trying to make conversation, but Monique stayed mute. She didn’t want to talk anymore. She just wanted to get home, peel off her wet clothes, and climb into bed. She turned and faced the window again, staring out at the rain and the city streets, hoping he would take the hint. “Did you really mean everything you said back there?” he persisted. “About . . . about not moving on?” “I wouldn’t have said it if I didn’t mean it.” “I know. I know . . . it’s just . . . this is a lot.” His grip tightened on the steering wheel. She could hear him swallow. “It’s a lot of stuff I hadn’t thought of, that I hadn’t known.” “Well, like you said . . . it’s all water under the bridge now. We said what we always wanted to say to each other. That’s all that matters.” Finally, mercifully, the façade of her building came into view.

“Just pull up here,” she said, pointing to the steel and glass awning. He frowned. “I was gonna park and walk you inside.” “I don’t need you to walk me inside. Just pull up here.” “Come on, Monique. It’s pouring out there. The street is deserted. Just let me—” “Pull up here—please,” she said tightly. He did as she asked though he seemed to do it reluctantly. He pulled up to the curb and she shoved open the door and hopped out, back into the pounding rain. “Monique!” he shouted after her, but she ignored him. She ran straight to the buildings rotating glass door, not looking back.

***

When Monique stepped into her condo, she turned on the foyer light, slammed shut the door behind her, loudly exhaled, and kicked off her stilettoes. She unhooked her halter straps and shoved the top of her dress to her waist. She then ed the hallway mirror and did a double take when she caught her reflection out of the corner of her eye. She looked horrible. Her hair was matted to her head and clumped around her shoulders. Streaks of mascara ran from her reddened eyes. She even had a smear of barbeque sauce on her chin. This wasn’t how she’d expected the night to end, but any hopes for a positive outcome now seemed so delusional it wasn’t funny. “What did you expect?” she muttered with disgust as she slinked to her master bath. Had she expected Justin to acknowledge the role he’d also played in the demise of their relationship? Maybe.

Had she’d hoped he would confess that he’d missed her just as much as she’d missed him all these years? A small part of her might have. “Stupid,” she spat before walking into her bathroom and turning on the light. The only solace she took was knowing that Kayla would get to sing her solo. She liked Kayla, despite her differences with Kayla’s daddy. It would be rewarding to see the timid little girl blossom when she got to perform on stage. Fifteen minutes later, Monique emerged from her bathroom, wearing a silk robe. She’d scrubbed her face and managed to tame her wet hair into a ponytail at the nape of her neck. She strolled into her bedroom, never happier to see her kingsized bed and 1,800 thread-count Egyptian sheets in her life. She began to pull back the covers when her doorbell rang. She paused from fluffing her pillows. Her brows wrinkled when the bell rang again. Monique walked out her bedroom and down the hall to her front door. When she looked through the peephole, she was stunned to see Justin patiently waiting there. She quickly unlocked the door and swung it open. “Wh-what are you doing here?” she asked. He was even more wet than she had been 15 minutes ago. His shirt and slacks were now soaked and almost pasted to his skin. He had to blink rain drops out of his eyes. “You left this in my car.” He held her shawl toward her. “Oh! Uh, thank you!” She took the shawl. “Don’t know how I forgot it.” “I do,” he muttered, lowering his eyes, wiping water from his face. “You seemed eager to get the hell up out of there.” She didn’t comment. Instead, she nodded again and stared at him awkwardly. “Thank you for bringing me this. Uh, let me get you a towel and—” “That wasn’t the only reason why I came here,” he blurted out, stopping her in her tracks. “Bringing you your wrap was just a good excuse.” He cleared his throat. “Back there I wanted to say . . . I wanted to tell you that . . . well, that I never forgot you either, even though I wanted to, even though I tried hard to do it

for years. I thought about you every day, Monique. Every single damn day. I still think about you. I still . . .” His words drifted off. She gazed up at him, swallowed by the intensity of his dark eyes. When he stepped forward, she took a step toward him. When he leaned down to wrap his arms around her and kiss her, she didn’t pull away. Instead, she dropped her shawl to the floor, stood on the balls of her feet, linked her arms around her neck, and kissed him back just as eagerly. His lips were cold, but, more importantly, his tongue was warm. She met his tongue with her own. The sensation of the kiss was mesmerizing, almost intoxicating. She wanted more— more of the kiss, more of him. Monique grabbed the collar of his shirt and tugged him inside, slamming the front door close behind them. They fell back against it, still kissing one another. They both began to peel his soaked clothes away; her hands shook as she did it, clumsily undoing the buttons of his shirt and the buckle of his belt. As they tumbled from the foyer into her living room and landed sprawled on her sofa, a voice in her head urged her to slow down, to pull her mouth away and ask Justin just what exactly was happening here. Would this be a one-night romp in the sheets for old times’ sake—or would it become something more? But then another part of her urged her not to slow down. That part of her didn’t want to know nor did it care if they had sex tonight and never spoke again. She just wanted his hands on her body. She wanted his mouth on hers and him inside her. She would worry about the rest in the morning. They managed to remove his shirt and tank top, throwing them both to the rug. She finally pulled her mouth away from his lips so she could do exactly what she’d wanted to do hours earlier: rake her nails over his bare chest. He undid the knot of the robe belt and pushed the s off her shoulders, leaving the garment dangling from one arm, baring her breasts to the cool living room air. They started to kiss again. He cupped his hands over her breasts and the skin instantly pricked with goosebumps. The nipples hardened. “Ah!” she shouted then laughed against his lips. “Your hands are ice cold,” she whispered with a smile. “Shit. Sorry,” he muttered back, starting to draw his hands away, but she grabbed one of his wrists.

“Nah, let me warm it for you,” she said, taking his hand and boldly placing it between her legs against the fabric of her lace thong. She dragged his bottom lip between her teeth as she did it. Justin one upped her and tugged back the thong’s waistband and lowered his hand to the wetness between her thighs instead, making her gasp. He toyed with her there and the gasps quickly switched to moans. She closed her eyes and dug her nails into his shoulders as she moved her hips against his fingers. The throbbing started small and then began to radiate outward. Her moans grew louder. Just when she could feel herself drawing close, she felt Justin pull his hand away. Her eyes shot open. She couldn’t help but whimper. “Why’d you stop?” she asked breathlessly. “You don’t get to have all the fun,” he said, reaching for his wallet that he’d removed from his back pocket, probably while her eyes were closed. He pulled out the condom and had it on within seconds. She kissed him again as he shifted the crotch of her thong aside, grabbed her behind, and tugged her forward, so that she was flat against his chest. With one swift upward thrust, he was inside her and she cried out again. Monique grabbed his shoulder and the back of her sofa to brace herself as he thrust again and again. She rocked her hips, matching his rhythm. It didn’t take long for the throbbing to start again, but this time the sensation had doubled . . . quadrupled. When the orgasm slammed into her, she threw back her head and cried out Justin’s name. He called out her name too about a minute later, drawing her close and then falling back against the sofa cushions, taking her with him.

***

Monique woke up early the next morning in bed to the sound of running water. She slowly raised her head and opened her bleary eyes, catching a glimpse of Justin through the hazy glass door of her shower. She glanced at her clock on her night table. It was 5:36.

“What the hell is he doing up so early?” she croaked. She pushed herself up to her elbows then to the sitting position. She raised her arms, stretched, and rose to feet, wincing a little as she stood. She was sore all over, even in places she hadn’t known had muscles. But that wasn’t a surprise. They had both treated themselves to round after round of lovemaking, taking it from the living room to the bedroom. It was like they’d tried to make up for the decade-plus of being apart in just one night. Monique searched around her darkened bedroom for her robe. She finally found it on the bedroom floor next to her discarded thong. She threw it on and staggered to the bathroom, tying her belt as she did it. She watched through the opened door as Justin took his shower, lathering and scrubbing himself with her bath gel. She leaned against the door frame, cocked an eyebrow, and smiled, loving the view of his naked body covered with apricot-scented bubbles. Her eyes traced the line of his broad back to his narrow waist and muscular behind. She loved the way the water glistened off his wet skin. When he turned slightly and she caught a view of the front, her eyes drifted lower and mind harkened back to carnal memories of last night. I could get used to this, she thought. Making love every night and waking up every morning to this beautiful man in her shower was definitely something to look forward to, but her smile faded when she realized she couldn’t look forward to it. She’d planned to head back to L.A. in a matter of weeks, not too long after the benefit concert. If Justin hadn’t been willing to do a long-distance relationship 12 years ago, he probably would be even less willing to do it now if it meant quitting his job and moving across the country from his daughter. Monique gnawed her bottom lip anxiously. But maybe he wouldn’t have to move. Even though her music career and old life awaited her on the West Coast, a part of her couldn’t help wondering what her life would be like if she stayed here in D.C. That way, he wouldn’t have to be away from Kayla, and he could continue to work for the Metropolitan Police. She could work at the Academy, teaching singing classes. She could still make albums at local music studios and head back to L.A. when necessary. Don’t get so far ahead of yourself, girl, a voice in her head warned.

Here she was considering rearranging her life when Justin had promised her nothing. Last night had been ionate, wonderful, and memorable, but it was just one night. She didn’t know if he wanted to make this more permanent. She watched as he turned off the shower head and opened the glass door. When he saw her, he grinned. “Good morning,” he said, reaching for a towel he’d left sitting on the counter. He stepped out of the shower stall and began to dry himself. “You’re finally awake!” “Finally?” She chuckled. “It’s not even six a.m. yet!” “I forget that not everybody gets up early like me.” “Why are you up so early anyway? It’s Saturday! You don’t sleep in on the weekends? Get crazy and wake up at say . . . I don’t know . . . seven o’clock as opposed to before dawn?” she asked sarcastically. “I’m on duty today.” He wrapped the towel around his waist. “I have to report at 7 a.m. Gotta stop home and shave . . . put on my uniform. If I’d slept in that late, I probably wouldn’t make roll call.” “Oh.” Her shoulders sank. She dropped her eyes to the tiled floor. She’d hoped they could have breakfast together. Maybe return back to bed for another steamy round. But their lives weren’t unencumbered. He walked across the bathroom toward her, inclining his head. “But I should be done by five. What’s your day looking like?” At those words, she beamed. “I have rehearsals with the kids, but I should be done by 6:30.” “Then I’ll pick you up at 7:30. We’ll try dinner again. Maybe we’ll have better luck at actually finishing a meal this time.” She laughed. “I’d like that.” “All right.” He glanced down at himself. “Well . . . I should probably put on

some clothes and get out of here before I’m late.” She turned toward her bedroom. “I’ll help you find them. I bet they’re all over the place after last night. Hopefully, your drawers are dry!” she called over her shoulder.

Chapter 11

“Thanks for the coffee,” Simone said as they strolled along the sidewalk, heading back to their patrol cars two blocks down. “No problem,” Justin replied before taking a sip from his own Styrofoam cup and glancing around them. It was only nine a.m. and his mind was already leaping forward several hours to that evening when he would do the final walkthrough of his new home—a home he could have never imagined owning one day. He now envisioned quiet evenings on the wraparound porch or cookouts in his expansive backyard with him standing at the grill, Kayla running around with her friends, and Monique carrying a platter of food while charming their guests. He blinked. Why had he imagined Monique there? Maybe it was because he planned to take her on the walkthrough with him before they went to dinner tonight. Or maybe you’re getting attached to her again, a voice in his head whispered. They had been hanging out a lot in the past week, meeting up almost every night. It brought back memories of what it had been like to be with Monique years ago, how perfect they had seemed for each other, how easy things had been before she’d left for L.A. But he knew there were a lot more obstacles this time around, namely that they lived on different coasts and lived vastly different lives: he as a single dad and police officer, she as a big-time music star. But she’d told him more than once that her career was no longer on the upswing. Maybe she was over the glitz and the glamour of being a pop star. Maybe she wanted to slow down. “Shit,” Simone spat, snapping him out of his thoughts and back to the present.

He turned and saw her gazing down at her cell phone. “What?” “Donovan canceled on me again. That’s the second time this week he’s done that to me.” She angrily shoved her cell phone into her back pocket. “You’re the one who likes to date assholes.” Justin smirked as he took another drink of coffee. “That’s what your ass gets.” “I said I didn’t like to date guys who were too nice! I didn’t say I wanted to date an asshole!” Justin chuckled and tucked a thumb into his belt, feeling the weight of his gun holster, taser, and flashlight against his hips. “Same thing.” “No, it isn’t!” She inflated her cheeks then loudly exhaled. “Dammit, I got these baseball tickets for him! I don’t even like baseball.” She gave Justin a side glance, painted on a charming smile, then nudged him in the side with her elbow. “Hey, you want to go to a Nationals game with me tonight?” “Oh, so he leaves you hangin’ and now you invite me? I ain’t your second stringer!” “Come on, Mailer! It’s not like you’ve got anything to do tonight anyway.” “Says who?” They paused at the crosswalk. “What? Kayla’s spending the night over at your place again?” Simone asked. He shook his head and drank his coffee. “Then what do you have to do tonight?” “Since when do I have to answer to you?” “Come on! Just tell me or I’ll think you’re making it up.” “I don’t care what you think, but it’s the truth. I’m busy tonight. I’ve got a date.”

Her mouth dropped open. She stayed on the sidewalk even as the light changed and he began to walk through the crosswalk. “You comin’?” he called over his shoulder and she scrambled to catch up to him. “You’re going on a date? Really?” “Don’t act like I stay home every damn night! I’ve been known to go on dates with women every now and then. Some of them don’t mind us good guys that much,” he said with a wink. “Well damn! Now I’m starting to feel a little jealous. Who is she? Where’d you meet her?” “I didn’t meet her. I already knew her. I dated her years ago.” “Dated her years ago? Wait! It’s not . . . it’s not that woman at your daughter’s dance school is it? The singer?” He hesitated before nodding. “How the hell did you go from not wanting Kayla to have anything to do with her, to dating her?” “Monique and I talked and we . . . well, we took care of it.” “I bet you did,” she said slyly. “So is this a first date? Second date?” He held up his hand. “Look, I know we’re cool and all, but this is starting to sound way too much like we’re girlfriends or somethin’.” “I’m just trying to gauge how serious this is for you, Mailer. I know how you nice guys are. You get attached! You know you do!” He shrugged as they finally neared their patrol cars. “What’s wrong with getting attached?” She paused on the sidewalk and squinted at him. “Because she could be leaving soon! She may not stay here. How could you guys make that work?” “But I don’t know if she’s leaving though.”

Simone walked to the driver’s side door. “Well, before you get too invested in this, don’t you think you should find out?” His brows furrowed as he watched Simone climb into her patrol car. Simone was right. Maybe it was about time he found out if Monique was leaving or staying in D.C.

***

“So where are we headed?” Monique asked, beaming as she climbed into his SUV at 6 o’clock. When she shut the door and put on her seatbelt, Justin pulled away from the curb and merged into traffic. “I’m guessing not out to dinner because you’re still wearing your uniform.” She playfully toyed with the collar of his shirt. He grabbed her hand and kissed the knuckles, making her grin widen. “We’ll pick up dinner later. But I wanna take you somewhere first,” he said as he drove, never taking his eyes off the roadway. “Take me where?” “It’s a surprise,” he said, placing her hand back in her lap. “Well, OK, then.” She shifted in her seat, getting comfortable. “I guess I’ll just have to wait and see!” The drive to Annandale took a little longer than he’d planned thanks to a bad back up on 495, so they arrived 20 minutes late. As he pulled into the cul de sac, he saw his real estate agent standing on the front porch. The older woman waved. Monique leaned forward, peering out the window while he parked in the driveway. “Where are we?”

“At my place,” he said, removing his seatbelt. “We go to closing next Thursday. I’m doing the walkthrough.” “Oh, I didn’t know!” She leaned over the armrest and kissed him. “Congrats, baby!” “Thanks.” They climbed out of his SUV and walked toward the stairs. His real estate agent looked down at them and smiled. “I was wondering if you were going to make it tonight,” she said as they mounted the stairs. “Yeah, I’m sorry about that. Traffic was pretty bad.” She nodded her graying head. “I heard about the accident. It’s just that I have another showing scheduled in 30 minutes.” She pulled back the sleeve of her suit jacket and glanced down at her wristwatch. “And I don’t want to be late.” “Do we need to reschedule this for another day then?” he asked. The agent quickly shook her head and waved her hand. “By no means! You’ll just have to do the walkthrough without me.” She extended a key to him. “The house is practically yours now anyway. Just put this back in the lockbox when you’re done.” “Sure! No problem,” he said, taking the key from her. He and Monique watched the older woman walk to a black Mercedes sedan parked along the curb. A minute later, Justin and Monique stepped inside. He closed and locked the front door behind them. Monique strolled around the empty foyer, the front parlor, and the living room, gazing at the high ceilings and the polished hardwood floors. “This is nice!” He shrugged. “It’s OK. It’s the nicest I could get for what I could afford. I looked

at a lot of homes—and I mean a lot—before I put a bid on this one.” His eyes surveyed the rooms. “It’s probably not as big or as grand as places you’ve seen in L.A. but—” “It doesn’t have to be big or grand. None of that matters! What matters is that it’s yours,” she said, running her hand over one of the newel posts on the bannister. “I think Kayla will really like it here.” “I hope so. Wanna see upstairs?” She excitedly nodded. He showed her the three upstairs bedrooms, laughing as she climbed into the empty whirlpool tub in the master bath. “Come on!” she said, sinking to her bottom, bringing her knees to her chest, and beckoning to him. “Climb in with me. Let’s see if there’s enough space for two!” “I’m not climbing in there.” “Oh, come on! I know you’re not the same Justin you were 15 years ago but you couldn’t have lost all of your spontaneity. Just be silly and have some damn fun for once!” she lamented, giving him a playful pout. He rolled his eyes and climbed into the opposite side of the tub. He sat down. She was right. There was enough space for two. “See? Isn’t this good?” She leaned back and closed her eyes. “Now just imagine us in here together surrounded by a mountain of bubbles, relaxing and listening to some soft sexy music. Lit candles everywhere. Wouldn’t that be romantic?” “Yeah, I’d try to relax but knowing you, you’d probably start whining and ask me to give you a foot rub.” She giggled. “That’s probably true.” He stared at her as she began to hum softly to herself. They were talking again like they had a future together, though he still didn’t know for sure if they had one. He still didn’t know her plans. He didn’t know if she was going to stay here permanently.

“Don’t you think you should find out?” he could hear Simone prod in his head. He should. “I still have a month left on my apartment lease. That should be more than enough time to get the house ready for me and Kayla to move in mid-September. My mom will probably insist I throw a house warming.” “You should,” she said, opening her eyes and sitting upright. “It’s your first real home . . . one you paid for. You should celebrate that.” “So,” he began tentatively, “should I add your name to the guest list? Will you still be in town by then?” Her eager smile faded. “Well, I . . . I don’t know.” “You don’t know?” “I hadn’t planned to be here. I told my manager that I was only going to be out here for a couple of months at most.” His heart sank. He lowered his eyes. At least he finally knew the truth. The disappointment and heartache he felt was surprising though, considering they had only reunited a short time. But thankfully, it was nothing compared to what he’d felt more than a decade ago. Justin grabbed the edges of the tub and started to hoist himself to his feet. “We should probably head—” “But I’ve been thinking a lot lately,” she blurted out, making him go still. “About what I want to do with my music, about how I feel working with the kids at the Academy. I’ve been wondering if . . . if maybe it's time for a change, you know?” He sat on the edge of the tub, gazing down at her. “What do you mean? Time for a change . . . how?” She stared at her knees, toying with the fabric of her capri pants. “I mean . . . my life back in L.A. wasn’t all it was cracked up to be. I didn’t realize until I came

back here how . . . how empty it was. I had my music—and that’s it. And I thought that was enough. But here, I have the Academy. I have the kids. I have Bina and Miss Yvonne.” She finally raised her eyes to look at him. He could see in them all her anxiety and angst. “I have you. I don’t wanna give that up.” He was touched by her words. More than she probably realized. “Come here,” he said, holding out his arms to her. She slowly rose to her feet and walked across the tub toward him. When she reached him, he enveloped her into a hug, drawing her close. She lowered her mouth to his and they began one searing kiss and then another. Pretty soon, he felt the familiar need flare up inside him. He began to harden. As if seeing the X-rated thoughts now flaring up in his head, she stood back, tugged her tank top over her head, and tossed it onto the bathroom floor. “Really, baby? Here?” he asked as she began to unbutton his uniform. “Why not?” She gave a wicked grin before shoving his shirt off his shoulders. “What better way to christen your new home?” She then unhooked her lace bra, tossed it to the floor, and kissed him again. Unable to resist any longer, he lowered the zipper of her capris and pulled them down her hips and legs, along with her thong. She stepped out of both, standing in front of him in all her naked glory. Justin was grateful he’d locked the front door behind them. He’d hate for his real estate agent to come back or worse, the homeowners and find him and Monique having sex in the upstairs master bath. “This is crazy,” he said, even as he leaned forward to run his tongue over one of her nipples. “You know that?” “Of course, I do. And I don’t care! Let’s be extra crazy and use your handcuffs,” she whispered saucily, straddling his lap. He tore his mouth away from her breasts. “I’m not using my damn handcuffs!” She frowned. “Does everything you do have to be by the book? I knew you were a cop, but I didn’t know you were the fun police, Justin!”

“I knew you were a singer, but I didn’t know you were a comedian, Monique.” She threw back her head and cackled and snorted until he kissed her again. Within minutes, her laughter soon turned into screams and moans that filled not only the bathroom, but the entire top floor.

Chapter 12

Monique was jogging on her treill, keeping a brisk five and a half-mile-perhour pace, when she heard her cell buzz in the cup holder. She looked down at the screen. It was her manager, Sonia. She pressed the green button to answer and turned on the speaker phone. “Good morning! What the hell are you doing up so early?” It was 4 a.m. on the West Coast. “I have a few conference calls with execs in New York today. Time waits for no one, sweetheart,” Sonia sang. “What are you doing? What’s all that noise?” “I’m jogging. Trying to slim down a little.” She had stepped on the scale that morning and saw she had put on a whopping twelve pounds in the five weeks she’d been in D.C. She blamed it on all the eating of hometown food and being away from her trainer. Though she secretly liked her new curves and Justin definitely seemed to enjoy them, she knew there was no way she’d be able to fit into her size 2 dresses for photo shoots anymore if she kept packing on the pounds. So she thought she might get in a half hour jog before she headed to the Academy this morning. “So what’s up?” Monique shouted, over the rhythm of her thumping feet. “Why’d you call?” “Well, I wanted to know why you’re keeping secrets from me?” “Secrets? What secrets?” “Oh, look at you playing all coy! I mean what’s this I hear about you dating some fine ass cop?” Monique nearly tumbled off of the treill, caught off guard by Sonia’s blunt question. She pressed the red stop button to keep from falling.

“Huh?” she’d asked breathlessly. Her heart was pounding hard—and not just because of the jog. “What are you talking about?” She hadn’t told anyone that she and Justin were dating. They didn’t hide it, but they weren’t advertising it, either. How had Sonia heard about him all the way in L.A.? “Your cop! I read that you’ve been going around town with him. He’s cute, girl! Not as pretty as Don E, but he’s got a sexy rugged swag about him. I like it!” “You read? What . . . what do you mean you read it?” Monique stuttered, wiping her sweaty brow with a hand towel. “Don’t sound so mad! They didn’t say anything bad about him. Go see for yourself! It’s was on Bossip yesterday. I saw it in a few other blogs too.” Oh, shit, she thought. Monique scrambled to her bedroom, in search of her iPad. She used to check the blogs for mentions of herself religiously, but had stopped lately. Because I didn’t care, she thought as she turned on the device. She was too involved in organizing the concert and enjoying her budding romance with Justin to give a fig about what the gossips had to say about her. But that didn’t mean the tongues stopped wagging. It didn’t take her long to find one of the blog posts. She returned to her exercise room with iPad in tow, staring at the photos, using her thumb and index finger to enlarge them. In one photo, she and Justin were walking hand-in-hand. The photo looked like it had taken a few nights ago during one of their dates while they were headed back to her place. In another photo, Justin was wearing his uniform, leaning against the side of his patrol car. She was standing in front of him with her hand on his broad shoulder, laughing and talking. All that time she had been blissfully unaware that someone had been following them. She wondered if it was the same photographer she had seen on the street a couple of weeks ago. “You should’ve told me you were dating somebody, honey,” Sonia said, her

voice filling Monique’s room. “If we would’ve gotten those photos out sooner, you may not have had to do this whole concert thing. We should’ve played this up! That would’ve been the kind of press you needed to take attention away from the shit that happened with Don E!” “First of all, I wanted to do the benefit concert. It’s important to the Academy and Miss Yvonne. And secondly, Justin isn’t a publicity stunt, Sonia. That’s not why I’m with him.” “OK! OK! Fine! I get it. He’s not a publicity stunt. But I don’t see why we can’t use him for good press,” Sonia grumbled. “I’m warning you, do not play this up. Don’t tell Hailey to give out info about him and have paps waiting at his house. He has a little girl. He’s a private person. He wouldn’t like it!” Sonia grew quiet on the other end, something she didn’t usually do. She’d usually be arguing with her. “You really like this guy, huh?” Monique nodded and smiled. She couldn’t help but smile at the thought of Justin. “I do. He’s a . . . a good man.” “Well, good for you, girl! I hope he likes hot weather then.” “Huh? Why?” “Because he’ll be visiting you in L.A. if this is a sure thing for you two—or he’ll be moving out here, himself.” Yeah, about that . . . She still hadn’t told Sonia about her plan to stay in D.C. a lot longer than she’d initially intended. She knew what Sonia would say when she told her. She’d say she was crazy to leave her music and livelihood in limbo. She’d tell Monique that if she put her career on pause that didn’t mean it would be waiting for her if and when she decided to come back. She’d tell her that no man was worth being so damn stupid. But Monique knew in her heart staying here was the right thing to do. Twelve years ago she had walked away from her old life, from Justin. Fate had brought her back again. She wanted to see how things panned out this time around.

She just didn’t want to tell Sonia all this by phone; something like this she had to tell her in person and she would when Sonia arrived in town for the concert tomorrow. “Maybe. We aren’t sure,” Monique replied with a false cheeriness. “Look, I should get going. I’m still finalizing some things for the benefit concert. I have to—” “Say no more, girl! I’ll talk to you later.” Sonia then ended the call with smooching sounds before hanging up. Monique stared again at the photos on her iPad screen. She was used to this type of attention, but Justin was not. If they were serious about making their relationship long term, he might have to get accustomed to this sort of thing if she didn’t quit the music business entirely. Would he be able to adjust to being followed around by paparazzi or fans when he traveled with her? Would he get annoyed at seeing his name in blogs? She decided to push away those heavy thoughts for now, and go take her shower. She had a lot to do today.

***

Monique arrived at the Academy a little after 8 a.m. She bee-lined straight to Bina’s office to update her friend on the last details they had to complete before the concert. She stared at her cell as she walked down the hall, scanning the list of things she needed to do today. Her list was long—at least 15 items were there and only two had checkmarks next to them to show they were completed. She should feel overwhelmed, but she didn’t. She felt buoyed and optimistic. Though she had wondered quite a few times whether she’d be able to pull off organizing the concert in a matter of five weeks, it looked like she’d be able to do it. She had another long, arduous day, but she knew that an evening with Justin awaited her at the end of it.

She knocked on Bina’s door. “Come in!” Bina called out to her. She pushed the door open and found Bina sitting at her desk, typing away at her laptop. When Monique stepped into the office, she smiled. “Hey! I was wondering if you had time to stop by today,” Bina said. “Of course, I would. I told you I would update you . . . let you know where we stand with everything.” Bina gestured to the arm chair facing her desk, and Monique took a seat. “Well, I heard that ticket sales are amazing. Word is that we’ve already sold out the venue. What loose ends do we have to tie off by tomorrow?” “Not much,” Monique said, scanning her phone again. “We’ve finally settled on the stage lighting. We’re doing dress rehearsals today to give the kids a feel of what the space is like, get them comfortable with performing in that theater. Some of the celebs have started to arrive. A lot of them requested time to do a sound check. They also want to coordinate security detail.” “Makes sense. So we know exactly who’s supposed to perform now, right?” Bina asked, grabbing a ballpoint pen and tapping it lightly on her desk. Monique nodded, swiping her index finger over her cell phone screen. “Yep, we got three more to commit just yesterday. That brings the total to about a dozen performers.” Bina’s eyes widened. “Wow! Good job! Who are the performers you added to list?” “The rapper Killa Kirk. He has a new album coming out this month and I think he’s trying to promote it.” She scanned yet another list. “Jasmine Delight finally gave confirmation that she would come, too. And believe it or not, Lisette wants to perform as well!” Monique looked up from her phone screen to see Bina was no longer tapping her pen. The other woman’s smile had evaporated; Bina’s mouth was gaping open.

“I’m sorry. W-who . . . who did you say? What was the last name you gave?” Bina stuttered. “Lisette.” Monique tilted her head and laughed. “Don’t tell me you’ve never heard of her!” “Yes, I’ve heard of her, Monique, but she wasn’t on the list you submitted to me of possible stars that would perform. I definitely would’ve ed something like that. We went over that list about half a dozen times!” Monique stared at her friend in confusion. “We did, but—” “So if we did then why the hell would you go behind my back and invite her?” Bina yelled. “Whoa! Hold up!” Monique held up her hands. “Stop shouting at me and calm the hell down! I didn’t invite her. Her manager reached out to my manager and said she’d heard through the grapevine that we were doing the benefit concert and was interested in participating. Besides, what difference does it make? I know she has a reputation as a diva, but I’ve met her, Bina. She really isn’t that bad! Didn’t Mo used to backup dance and choreograph for her? Ask him what she’s like. I bet he’ll vouch for her!” “No, he wouldn’t,” Bina snapped. “Why not?” Bina closed her eyes and pursed her lips. “Mo didn’t just backup dance and choreograph for Lisette. They used to . . . they used to be together. They used to hook up.” “Oh.” Monique cleared her throat and shifted in her chair. This is awkward. “He thought the relationship was more than what it was, but when she got engaged, he figured out it wasn’t. So he broke things off with her. She didn’t take rejection well, and kind of . . . well . . . she stalked him from afar for a while. Called him. Sent him gifts. She even tried to get us to break up, but that didn’t work either. I’m worried that her agreeing to do the concert is just another

ploy to mess with Mo’s head. Maybe she still wants him back.” “Shit,” Monique muttered. “I wish you would’ve told me this in the beginning, Bee.” “I know,” Bina said, opening her eyes. “I know! And I would’ve if I’d known she was even a consideration. The truth is this whole thing with her and Mo is pretty embarrassing for him. I didn’t want to discuss it if I didn’t have to.” Monique sighed. “Well, I’ll try to give her people a call to tell her not to come, but I wouldn’t be shocked if she’s already on a flight heading to D.C. The concert is tomorrow, Bee.” “I realize that.” Bina leaned her elbows against her desk. She dropped her head in her heads. “Look, I’ll give Mo the heads up too, just in case she is coming here. I’ll tell him to brace himself.” “I’m sorry, girl.” Bina tiredly waved her hand. “It’s OK. We’ll get through it. We can act professionally, right?” Monique certainly hoped so. She rose from her chair and walked out of her office, now not feeling quite as buoyant as she had been fifteen minutes ago. Monique wished she could say the day improved after that, but it only continued to go downhill. There was snafu after snafu. The kids, now finding themselves on a stage in a big theater, seemed to get attacked by stage fright; several forgot lyrics and dance steps. She kept shouting for them to their blocking. The lighting and sound guys kept having issues. Monique was at her wit’s end by the time Kayla made her way on stage for her solo, which would close out the concert. “All right, Kayla. You’re up, sweetheart!” she called out to her from the darkened auditorium as the music came on. Kayla slowly raised the mike to her lips. Monique watched from her first row seat and Kayla began the song then suddenly stopped. She gave an anxious glance off stage. She squinted, held her

hands over her eyes, and said into her mike, “I’m sorry, Miss Starr. Can I . . . can I start again?” Monique resisted the urge to groan. She had been at this for past five hours. She just wanted to finish at least one run through. “OK,” she said, climbing the short flight of stairs leading to the stage. She motioned for the sound guy to cut the music. It died down seconds later. “OK. We can start again, honey. Let’s take it from the top!” This time Monique didn’t go back into the audience. She stood off left, where a group of pre-teen girls were huddled in bright yellow tutus and leotards. She watched as Kayla once again raised the mike to her lips, but this time, when the music started up again, no words came out. Kayla closed her eyes and lowered her head, making her braids fall into her face. She dropped the mike from her mouth. The girls behind Monique began to snicker. “I knew she couldn’t do it,” one of them mumbled, making the rest burst into laughter. Monique whipped around and glared at them. “If I hear any of you laughing at another performer, you’re out of the concert. Every single one of you. You hear me?” Monique said firmly, making the girls go silent. They looked chagrined. Monique crept back onstage toward Kayla. She could see the mike was shaking in the little girl’s hands. Tears were in her big dark eyes. She knew Kayla had nerves about performing in front of a crowd, but she had gotten so much better in previous rehearsals. She had even sung in front of other students. Monique had no idea why Kayla was freaking out now. She waved her hands again, motioning for the music to stop. When it did, she bent down beside the little girl. She placed a reassuring hand on her shoulder. “Kayla, what’s wrong? Kayla slowly shook her head as one tear plopped onto her cheek and then another. She then dropped the mike to the stage, producing ear-piercing , and ran toward the stairs.

“Kayla!” she called after her. “Kayla!” Kayla didn’t stop. Instead, she ran down the center aisle of the theater and through the door of the auditorium. Monique dropped her hands to her hips as she watched the doors swing close. “What the hell was that?” Monique found her five minutes later. Kayla was sitting on the floor in some dark corner near the box office, with her head resting on her knees. Monique sank to the floor beside her, making Kayla jump in alarm and then relax when she realized it was Monique. “Honey, why’d you run off like that?” Kayla gnawed her lower lip. “I know you’re nervous, honey, but you should’ve just told me. I’ve been there! Trust me! I could’ve talked you through it.” “They said I can’t sing,” Kayla murmured. “Who said you can’t sing?” “The girls in my ballet class. They said I can’t sing . . . that my voice sounds deep like a dude’s. They said I sound like a cow going ‘Mooooooo!’” “But you know that’s not true! I told you that you can sing. I gave you the solo to close out the entire show! I wouldn’t have done it if I didn’t think you could pull it off.” Kayla dropped her eyes again. “They said . . . they said the only way you would give a solo to an ugly fat girl like me is because of Daddy.” Monique gritted her teeth. She forgot how mean girls could be at that age. “First of all, you’re not fat or ugly.” Kayla nodded. “Yes, I am.” “No, you’re not! I think you’re adorable.”

“I want to be pretty and skinny like you when I grow up,” Kayla said with such earnestness that it made Monique’s heart break. She could being just like Kayla when she was younger, idolizing girls like Bina and others with slimmer figures and long hair. Hell, she had even managed to turn herself into one of those girls after years of dieting and the occasional visit to the plastic surgeon. But she still battled issues with her weight to this day. Some part of her would still be the chubby girl they used to call Peanut, begging to be liked and ired. She didn’t want Kayla to grow up to be like her. “Look,” she said, taking Kayla’s hand within her own, “I want you to understand something. You’re beautiful just the way you are. There’s nothing to change. I don’t want you to waste time hoping and dreaming of being someone else. I want you to love you, and be you. I want you to get on that stage and blow those girls away. Because I picked you to sing that solo, Kayla. Not anyone else. I gave you the part before your father asked you to be put back in the concert. ?” “So you didn’t just do it because Daddy is your boyfriend?” Kayla asked, staring at their intertwined fingers. “Huh?” Kayla finally looked up at her again. “Daddy is your boyfriend now, right?” Monique let go of her hand, caught off guard by the question. “My friend Kelsey said she saw you and daddy online. She saw pictures of you guys. She said he’s your boyfriend but . . . but I said Daddy never told me you were his girlfriend. Are you his girlfriend?” Monique was at a loss for words. This conversation was going in a direction she hadn’t anticipated. She and Justin hadn’t yet discussed revealing their relationship to Kayla. Yet another thing we should have talked about, but haven’t, Monique thought forlornly. It looked like the gossip blogs had taken care of that for them.

“It’s OK if you are!” Kayla exclaimed, smiling for the first time. “I like you.” “I like you too,” Monique whispered, feeling relieved. “But your dad isn’t really my boyfriend, per se. We’re just . . . just dating for now. It’s what grownups do. We’re . . . feeling it out, I think. If that’s OK with you.” Kayla nodded. “That’s OK, too.” “So do you think you’re ready to go back inside and try again? I think you can do it. I’ll talk you through it if I have to.” Kayla took a deep breath and nodded. “OK. OK, I’ll try.” They both then slowly climbed back to their feet and walked hand-in-hand back into the auditorium.

Chapter 13

“Miss Starr! Miss Starr, can you help me?” Monique stopped midstride, looked up from her iPad, and turned to find two big brown eyes gazing up at her expectantly. The little girl, who was wearing a hotpink, sequined bodysuit, held up the strings to her top. “I can’t tie this, and my mommy isn’t here.” “Of course, honey. Turn around for me,” she said before tucking her iPad under the crook of her arm, leaning down, and tying the strings into a double-knotted bow at the nape of the girl’s neck. It was two hours until showtime and Monique, who would also be performing that night, wondered if she would have any time to get ready before the curtain went up. In addition to her helping the occasional little one with his or her costume, Monique kept getting pulled aside to answer questions from the crew or extinguish little fires. Missing costumes . . . A dancer who tripped over one of the backstage wires and needed ice for her ankle . . . A singer with a sudden case of laryngitis . . . When Monique wasn’t handling those things, she was going from dressing room to dressing room, making sure the celebrities who were attendance were happy. Thankfully, most realized that this was a small performance academy holding a charitable event so they kept their diva antics to a minimum. Speaking of divas, Monique was also relieved that the infamous Lisette had turned out to be noshow. It looked like Monique’s polite, ego-massaging email apologizing for the misunderstanding and asking the singer not to attend had done the trick—to Bina and Maurice’s great relief.

At least that was one fire Monique wouldn’t have to worry about. After the little girl scampered off, Monique continued to make her way through the barely contained chaos backstage. She paused and smiled when she saw Bina and Miss Yvonne walking toward her. “What are you doing back here?” she exclaimed, opening her arms to give the older woman a hug. “Bee told me that you were going to stay home and rest until the show starts!” “That was the plan, but you see how well that went,” Bina said with a loud sigh, glancing at her mother. “The only way she would’ve stayed home, is if I would’ve tied her to a chair.” “Oh, you hush up,” Miss Yvonne said, playfully swatting her daughter’s arm. The older woman still looked weak and tired. Her once lean dancer frame seemed frail and skinny now, but Bina said Miss Yvonne would end her chemotherapy next month. If the treatment had done its job and her cancer had gone into remission, there was a strong chance Miss Yvonne would be back to her old self sometime next year. Monique prayed she would. The two embraced. Miss Yvonne kissed Monique’s cheek, stepped back, and waved her hand dismissively. “Y’all know I wasn’t going to stay home sitting on a couch while all this was going on here. It would’ve driven me crazy!” She rubbed her hands together eagerly and looked around her, grinning. She resembled a kid who had just stumbled into a toy store. “So what do you need me to do? How can I help?” she asked. Monique exchanged a look with Bina and smirked knowingly. “You know what you can do? You can have a seat right over there,” she said, pointing to an empty chair in the corner, “and conserve your energy. Bina and I have got everything covered.” “Look at you . . . treating me like I’m some child!” Miss Yvonne cried. “That’s something I would expect from Bina, but not from you, Peanut!” “I’m not trying to treat you like a child, Miss Yvonne, I’m just—”

“Out of the way!” she heard a male voice boom. “I said get out of the way!” Monique gazed over Miss Yvonne’s shoulder at a cluster of nearly a dozen people walking toward them. Some were talking on cell phones. Others were carrying bags and boxes. They all seemed to be orbiting around the nucleus of a tall, fair-skinned black woman in dark sunglasses, cut-off denim shorts, and a sheer pink blouse. The woman tossed her blond locs over her shoulders as she walked. At the sight of her, Bina visibly stiffened. “Oh, shit,” Monique murmured under her breath. “Oh, my God! Lisette!” a few students cried then ran toward her. “Lisette! I love you so much!” So Lisette had decided to show up, after all—more than two hours late. Monique, Miss Yvonne, and Bina watched with shock and outrage as one of the Lisette’s hulking bodyguards stopped two of the students mid-run, and roughly shoved them aside, almost making one of the girls fall to the floor. Bina ran to her side to see if she was alright. “Excuse me, but have you lost your mind?” Miss Yvonne shouted at him. “Don’t you touch those children!” “You’ll have to excuse Henry. He’s my security. He does his job well, but sometimes he can be a little overzealous,” Lisette said with a laugh as she drew closer. She removed her glasses and extended her hand to Miss Yvonne. “You must be Yvonne MacLaine. It’s a pleasure to meet you. My name is Lisette.” “I know who you are,” Miss Yvonne said while still eying Lisette’s bodyguard. “Well, Lisette, we don’t mind people having security, but there will be no manhandling of these children. You hear me?” “Crystal clear,” Lisette cooed before facing Monique and air kissing her cheeks. “How have you been, Monique? I haven’t seen you in ages! Not since that bash at Quincy’s place.” “I’ve been home. Came back to my roots and all. I’ve been . . . busy.” She cleared her throat anxiously. “I’m so glad to see you, Lisette, but I must say that

I’m surprised. You didn’t get my email?” “What email?” Lisette asked, looking confused. Suddenly, her eyes brightened. “Oh, yes! My manager mentioned something about you saying you didn’t have a slot big enough in your concert for an artist of my caliber, but I told him that didn’t matter. I can humble myself for a good cause.” She then finally turned to face Bina, slowly looking her up and down. “And who might you be? Monique’s new assistant?” Monique could see Bina’s jaw tighten. “No, I’m Bina MacLaine, the director of MacLaine Academy of the Performing Arts.” “Oh, my gosh! I’m so sorry!” Lisette threw back her head and laughed again. “I just saw your clothes and assumed you were assisting. My mistake!” “Really?” Bina asked, giving a glacial smile. “I’d think you’d know exactly who I am considering you’ve sent me an email directly,” she replied. “It certainly wasn’t an email one would easily forget.” Lisette’s smile faltered. “I’m sorry, but I have no idea what you’re talking about. You must be mistaken.” Bina crossed her arms over her chest. “Oh, I think not.” “Look . . . uh . . . why don’t I show you to your dressing room so you can get settled before sound check, OK, Lisette?” Monique interjected, wrapping her arm around Lisette’s shoulder, hoping to avert a catfight in front of more than a hundred children. “Come with me.” She then ushered Lisette along, letting the entourage trail after them.

***

“I’m sorry, but this isn’t working for me!” Lisette yelled, holding up her finger and motioning to stop the backing track. “It just isn’t!”

“What’s not working?” Monique called back to her from the auditorium’s front row. Though she still had a long list of things to finish before showtime in a little more than an hour, she was watching Lisette do yet another run through of her 3minute performance. Lisette had insisted on it, along with several other things that Monique wasn’t prepared for. Bina had agreed to remain scarce backstage to avoid further confrontation. “This whole set up isn’t working,” Lisette said, waving her hands around her. “I’m up here by myself. This is an intense, ionate song. I have to sing it to someone.” “You are singing it to someone. You’re singing it to everyone in the audience!” “That’s not what I meant!” “Lisette, can we please just get this done?” Monique asked, dropping her head into her hands. “We only have an hour until showtime. We’re going to have to start opening the auditorium for seating soon!” “I’m not asking for the world. I’m just asking for someone to be up here with me.” She glanced to stage left where several children and instructors were clustered, getting into position for the concert that would start soon. She snapped her fingers. “There! I have the perfect candidate.” “Who?” Monique asked, dropping her hands from her face. She watched as Lisette walked in the direction she had pointed. A second later, she was holding Maurice’s hand, practically dragging him onstage. “What do you say, Mo?” Lisette asked, grinning. Monique winced. Why hadn’t I seen this coming? Maurice shook his head and yanked his hand back. “No.” “Oh, come on! You the routine for this song. We used to do it all the time.” “I said no, Lisette.”

“Why? Are you rusty?” she asked as she drew near him again. She ran a hand over his chest, making him step back. “Forgot how to dance, baby?” He didn’t answer her. Instead, he rolled his eyes, turned around, and headed back where he came. But she grabbed him from behind and wrapped an arm around his waist, giggling. She made it look fun spirited, but Monique could tell Maurice was uncomfortable. “Oh, I’m just kidding with you, Mo!” Lisette cooed, gazing up at him when he turned around to face her. “Do me a favor. For old times’ sake?” He glanced in the audience then off stage. He looked cornered. “Don’t do this.” “Don’t do what?” “Just . . . do your thing, please,” he said, wrenching her arm from around his waist, “but don’t drag me into it. Keep it professional in front of the kids. These are my students.” “Drag you into it? I didn’t know me asking you to dance with me for a performance I’m doing for free to raise money for your little school was unprofessional!” She raised her chin. “Maybe I shouldn’t perform at all.” “Maybe you shouldn’t!” Bina called from out of nowhere. Monique turned to see her friend standing near the auditorium doors. When she did, she inwardly groaned. Where the hell did she come from? She’d hope this wouldn’t turn into a live episode of Love & Hip-Hop. About a dozen little faces appeared behind the curtains. The students who were onstage seemed riveted. “In fact, let’s not say ‘maybe,’” Bina continued as she walked down the center aisle toward the stage. “Truth is, we don’t want you to perform tonight. So you can get out!” “Is it ‘we’ or just you?” Lisette asked. “You that scared to have me around here? Worried I’m going to take back what’s mine?”

“That’s it!” Bina snapped, stalking toward the stage stairs. “You’re gonna have to leave.” “And who’s gonna make me, sweetheart?” Lisette challenged, laughing again. “You?” Monique rose to her feet, watching with alarm as the scene unfolded. Oh, shit! “I will!” Miss Yvonne yelled, striding on stage. “Enough of this nonsense! I’ll be damned if I let you stroll in here and try to bully my people and pick a fight with my child. I don’t care who the hell you are!” “Pardon me?” Lisette squeaked, staring down at Miss Yvonne. “You heard me! You’ve been disinvited. My daughter says it. I say it! So you can pack your things, take your bossy staff, and leave this theater.” “Well!” Lisette huffed. She dropped her hand to her hip. “I will leave then. But let’s understand something. If I don’t perform tonight, I bet I can get several of the other performers you have on your roster to drop out, too. All I have to do is ask them to come with me.” She raised her nose into the air again. “So I’d be very careful who you—” Lisette was interrupted by Miss Yvonne, who burst out laughing. “Honey, I have stage-3 cancer. I don’t give a goddamn what threats you make. Nothing is as bad as that. If you and your little friends wanna pack up your things too, so be it! The show will go on without you.” Miss Yvonne then turned to the children who stood in the background, staring at her in amazement. “Babies, go back to your dressing rooms. We’ve got an hour until showtime and we’ve wasted enough of your time.” She then stared at Lisette. “I expect you to be off this stage in the next five minutes. We have another act that needs to do their run through and you’re taking up their time.” For the first time, Lisette was speechless. Monique had never been so proud of her mentor in her life. Everyone else shuffled off stage, while Lisette continued to stand there, blinking dumbly.

“Uh, thank you for coming, Lisette,” Monique called to her. “Sorry it didn’t work out!” She watched as Lisette’s face flushed crimson and the diva stomped off the stage, cursing to herself.

Chapter 14

“Mama, come on! The intermission is almost over. They’re about to start the performance again,” Justin called to his mother. “Wait a minute! Wait a minute!” Latrice shouted as she walked across the lobby from the ladies’ room, fiddling with her elastic waistband. “My panty hose are all twisted.” Justin couldn’t help but chuckle. When his mother finished adjusting, he took her arm and guided her to the throng of people huddled near the doors. All of them were waiting to head back into the theater. He had hoped to run into Kayla before her performance. He’d been unable to come with her to the theater because he had to pick up his mother. He’d wanted to give his daughter a hug along with a pep talk, but he still hadn’t run into her. He supposed Kayla was with the rest of the kids backstage. So he’d texted her an hour ago; he’d have to settle for sending her a few “smiley faces” and “thumbs up” emojis instead of a verbal boost. Justin and his mother finally arrived back to their seats. He spotted his ex-wife two rows behind him. She was sitting next to a large man with graying hair. Probably one of her new boyfriends. As Justin settled into his chair, he looked around him. The auditorium was packed and the space was pretty large to begin with. It looked like it accommodated at least 7,000 to 8,000 people. While waiting in the lobby, he’d heard from some of the off-duty officers serving as security that they’d even had to turn people away. Justin knew that Monique was worried the concert would be a bust. He was happy to see it turned out to be the success she’d wanted it to be, especially considering how hard she’d worked on it. “Is that Kay-kay?” his mother suddenly said, pointing to and squinting at the center aisle. Justin turned and looked in the direction she was pointing. He saw his daughter

walking toward them. She looked adorable in her satin dress with her hair pulled atop her head and a wreath of flowers at her crown. She excused her way past four people before leaping at Justin and enveloping him in a hug. “Whoa!” he cried out as she climbed over him to kiss her grandmother’s cheek. “What are you doing out here, sweetheart? I thought you’d be backstage!” “I saw you out here so I was sneaky sneaky and left. I wanted to say hi, Daddy.” “Well, that was sweet of you!” Latrice said before smacking her rear end. “But you get on back there. We don’t want you to miss your solo!” Kayla nodded before turning to Justin. “Did you wanna come back and give Monique a good luck kiss too, Daddy? I’ll bet they’ll let you backstage!” “A good luck kiss?” Latrice laughed. “Why on earth would your daddy want to do that, baby?” Justin opened his mouth, eager to change the subject, but Kayla was faster on the draw. “Because Monique and Daddy are dating now,” she stated in such a matter-offact way that she may as well have said Monday comes before Thursday. Latrice’s eyes widened to the size of quarters. Justin winced. Monique had mentioned last night that Kayla had asked her about their relationship. Though she’d insisted she’d taken care of it, Justin had wanted to talk to Kayla about it himself. But he hadn’t wanted to bring it up before the performance because he’d assumed Kayla had bigger things on her mind than her father’s love life, but maybe he should’ve talked to her. He should’ve told her to be careful with whom she shared this info. “Are they now?” Latrice asked, raising her graying brows and glancing at her son. “Yep, they aren’t boyfriend and girlfriend yet though,” Kayla continued. “They’re ‘feeling it out.’ Monique said that’s what grownups do. But I hope she and Daddy—”

“Honey, why don’t you head backstage. I think the concert is about to start again and I bet they’re looking for you,” he interrupted. “OK,” Kayla said with a grin. She waved. “Bye, Daddy! Bye, Grandma!” She then excused her way past the other audience and ran back down the center aisle toward the stage. “So when were you going to tell me?” his mother asked. He turned to look at her and saw sadness, anger, and disappointment in her eyes. “There was nothing to tell, Mama. I’m a grown man. I don’t have to tell you about every woman I date.” “But Monique Starr isn’t every woman, and you know that! You two have history . . . bad history and you can’t ignore that, baby.” “I’m not ignoring it. We talked about it. I forgave her for what she did, and she forgave me for what I did.” “Forgave you?” Latrice nearly shouted, making a woman sitting beside her turn and frown. “Forgave you for what?” “We both played a part in what happened. I can it that now. And we’re both ready to let go of the past and start over again.” His mother obstinately crossed her wide arms over her chest. “I don’t like it. I don’t like it one bit, Justin! You finally got yourself together. You just bought a home. Things are looking up for you and she comes slinking her way back into your life. It’s not right!” “She didn’t slink. She didn’t have to sneak or manipulate me. I want her back in my life.” “But is she here to stay, or is she just going leave and break your heart all over again?” Justin didn’t get a chance to answer her. The house lights went down and the stage lights came up. The audience applauded as the next performer came on

stage. He and his mother watched the rest of the show. He could feel the tension radiating between them but he tried diligently to ignore it. It only eased when Kayla came on stage. His mother leapt from her chair and shouted the little girl’s name at the top of her lungs. She started clapping like some lunatic before Kayla even sang her first note. Justin laughed and told his mother to sit down. He watched, enraptured, as Kayla performed. He knew she could sing but wondered if she would ever have the confidence to do it in front of thousands of people. Monique had tutored her well. Kayla seemed to blossom under the stage lights, charming the audience with a stage presence he didn’t know she had. When she reached the end of her song, belting out the last note, she got a standing ovation. Justin had never been so proud in his life. The house lights came on again not too long after that, after everyone took their bows. Justin and Latrice made their way backstage. They were stopped a few times by security, but he showed his badge and they quickly nodded and waved him through. “Comes in handy,” he said over his shoulder to his mother. He found Kayla standing with Monique. His daughter had her arms wrapped around Monique’s waist, hugging her. Monique said something he couldn’t hear from this distance and Kayla nodded, smiling. It warmed his heart to see them so comfortable with each other, so happy. His vision of barbeques in the backyard flared up again. This time, instead of Kayla playing with her friends and Monique charming guests, he could see both Kayla and Monique setting up the picnic table, laughing and joking with one another. Kayla suddenly turned and saw Justin and Latrice walking toward them. “Daddy! Did you see? Did you like it?” “Of course, I liked it! You did such a good job.” She let go of Monique and ran toward him. He swept into his arms, raising her from the floor to kiss her cheek. “You looked beautiful, too.” “I told her she put some professional singers to shame,” Monique said as he lowered Kayla back to her feet.

If his heart was warm before it practically swelled now at the sight of Monique strolling toward them. She wore her hair up. Diamonds dripped from her ears, neck, and wrists. Her flowing red gown swayed around her body as she walked. She looked every bit of the music star that she was. But she isn’t that anymore, he reminded himself. She was finally ready to leave that old life behind. “Hi, Ms. Mailer!” Monique said. “It’s been a while since I’ve seen you.” “Yes, it has,” Latrice murmured in reply. “How have you been?” “Fine, I guess,” the older woman said with an air of disinterest. “Probably not as good as you.” Justin side-eyed his mother. “Monique! Monique! There you are!” someone yelled. Justin turned to see a tall woman striding toward them, wearing all black. She was taller than any woman he’d ever seen in real life. When she approached them, she looked Justin up and down appraisingly. She then held out her hand to him. “So you must be the fine ass cop I’ve been hearing about. Hey! I’m Sonia Sanchez, Monique’s pain-in-the-ass manager.” She glanced down at Kayla. “Excuse my French.” “Hey, Sonia,” he said shaking her hand. “I’m Justin.” “Monique’s man. Yes, I know! I’m glad to meet the guy who finally made this girl end her three-year dry spell. You must be special, Justin.” “He is,” Monique said softly with a smile, giving him a wink. “Well, I hope you won’t mind me borrowing your girl for a bit.” She took a step toward her, draping her arm around her. “I’ve got some good news! Let’s go talk.”

Monique paused. “What good news?” Sonia glanced at Justin, Latrice, and Kayla again, like she was debating saying what she had to say in front of them. Finally, she shrugged. “Ah, well! Guess I’ll just tell you here. The benefit concert is getting a lot of buzz. And I mean a lot! Some of the other managers reached out to me. A lot of the stars you had here tonight want to do another one, but this time it should be televised! TVOne is interested.” Monique blinked in surprised. “Really? Are you serious?” Justin grinned. “That’s amazing!” “I’m going to be on TV?” Kayla squealed, jumping up and down. “But more importantly, the label loves all the positive buzz you’re getting, girl,” Sonia said. “They finally want to release your album.” Monique brought her hand to her chest. She gaped. “You’re kidding!” “No, I’m not kidding. They’re setting a release date for November, but they want you to come back to L.A. and touch up one or two songs. They said maybe you can include a bonus track from the concert, one with some of the kids from the Academy.” “Miss Yvonne would love that.” “We can start scheduling studio time for next week. I figured it wouldn’t be a problem since you’re headed back home anyway.” At those words, Justin felt like he had just taken a punch to the gut. He was struck speechless. He stared at Monique, but she didn’t say anything. She didn’t correct Sonia. Instead she continued to smile up at her manager like she hadn’t just dropped a bomb on him. “You’re leaving next week?” Kayla asked, sounding and looking heartbroken. Monique turned to her. For the first time, her smile disappeared. “Well . . . I . . . I was—”

“That was the plan! I know you guys are going to miss her, but you can always come to visit, sweetie,” Sonia assured. “Have you ever been to Disneyland? I’m sure Monique would be happy to take you when we finish up the album and promo.” Kayla didn’t respond. Neither did Justin. Kayla looked like how Justin felt: sick to her stomach. Meanwhile, Latrice looked pissed, and part of him was pissed, too. He’d just defended Monique to his mother, swore that they had wiped the slate clean and were ready to start over again. Why hadn’t Monique told him the truth? She’d made it sound like staying here in D.C. was a strong possibility when all along she’d planned to head back to L.A. as soon as she’d finished the concert. He felt like a fool for being lied to, for trusting her in the first place. “Well, congratulations on your new album,” Justin mumbled before placing a hand on Kayla’s shoulder. “Kayla, we should probably head home. It’s well past your bedtime, baby.” “It was nice meeting you!” Sonia said as the trio turned and began to walk away. “Wait! Justin, wait!” Monique called after them. But he didn’t stop. He stoically kept walking, bottling all his rage and hurt. He didn’t want to show those volatile emotions in front of the hundred or so people who seemed to be milling about backstage, in front of his mother and daughter. A few seconds later, he felt a hand clamp on his arm. He turned to find Monique gazing up at him plaintively. “Please, wait, Justin. I need to talk to you!” He gritted his teeth. “There’s nothing to talk about.” “Yes, there is! Please can we talk privately? Please?” He loudly swallowed and turned to his mother. “Mama, can you take Kayla. I’ll just be a sec.” Latrice gradually nodded and ushered Kayla toward one of the steel doors. The whole time the little girl stared over her shoulder at Justin and Monique, even as the door closed behind her.

“Come with me,” Monique said, taking his hand. She tugged him several feet away to some secluded corner. When they reached it, he pulled his hand out of her grasp. He’d liked the feel of her warm palm in his own, but he wasn’t going to let her work her voodoo on him tonight. He was done with that shit. “You said you wanted to talk, so talk,” he snapped. She fidgeted anxiously, fiddling with her diamond bracelet and necklace. She opened her mouth then closed it. “I . . . I wanted to explain what—” “There’s nothing to explain.” “Yes, there is! I know you’re angry at me, but I swear I didn’t plan it this way.” “Are you kidding me? You lied about staying out here and you planned to go back to L.A. this whole damn time.” “I didn’t lie! I told you that I didn’t know what I was going to do! I wasn’t sure!” “But now you are sure, right? You’re headed back to L.A. next week to work on your album. That’s what Sonia said. Or are you about to tell me she’s the one lying?” Monique closed her eyes. “My label has finally given me a release date. Do you understand that? I’ve been working on this album for almost a year. It’s finally going to see the light of day and I can’t just . . . just throw it away. I’ve worked too hard on this, Justin! This could be my big comeback!” “But you can throw us away? You can throw us away now like you threw us away more than a decade ago?” She slowly shook her head. “That’s not what I’m doing. This doesn’t mean we have to—” “No, that’s exactly what you’re doing!” “Why does it have to be either, or?” she shouted, stomping her foot. “Why can’t we compromise on this?”

“Compromise? Monique, you lied to me!” he bellowed back, pointing at his chest. Now several heads were looking in their direction. “You know what? Fuck this! I’d thought you’d changed. But the truth is you’re the same driven, selfish chick that you were 12 years ago. I just feel like an asshole falling for your bullshit again and worse, you dragged my daughter into this. I knew this would happen. I never should’ve let her get attached to you. I’m done with your bullshit!” Monique opened her eyes. He could see tears welling in them but he wasn’t moved. She was not only a good singer but also a good actress when she wanted to be. He turned away from her one last time, refusing to look back.

Chapter 15

“So what kind of look are we going for today?” the makeup artist asked, staring at Monique’s face like he was examining the contents of a petri dish. She opened her mouth to answer his question but the video’s director spoke first. “We want something metallic, futuristic, and badass—but sexy,” he said as he hovered over her shoulder, lowering his dark sunglasses so he could gaze at her reflection in the mirror. “Think Robocop—but sexy. Envision Metropolis—but sexy.” The makeup artist, who was now cradling her chin and lifting it toward the light, nodded. “Got it! You’re going to look amazing, sweetheart!” “That’s great,” Monique murmured flatly, resisting the urge to roll her eyes. Instead she stared out the window of her trailer at the set where the dancers were currently practicing their routine and the crew was nailing a large metallic dome into place. She’d been back in L.A. for a month and she was already shooting her second video for her album. Monique had been surprised at the budget they’d given her for the shoot. “Why are you surprised?” Sonia had asked a few days ago while they sipped mojitos at a Cuban restaurant on Melrose. “That single you released last week is already number 2 on the R&B charts on iTunes and fans are streaming it like crazy, girl! The label wants to make sure your album is a success. They’re finally putting some money behind you! They’re finally giving you what you’re owed!” And in turn, Monique was giving MacLaine Academy of the Performing Arts and Miss Yvonne what she felt she owed them. In addition to the money she’d raised through the benefit concert, she was donating half of the proceeds from sales of her singles and album to the MacLaine Academy. “That’s so sweet of you, baby,” Miss Yvonne had said over the phone last week.

“You really didn’t have to do that!” “Yes, I did. I told you that I wanted to help the school and I meant it.” “And the money you’ve raised for us will go a long way. Bina isn’t worried about the bank breathing down our necks anymore, and it looks like we’ll be able to keep our full staff. That’s a huge weight off our shoulders. I just wish you could’ve stayed, but I understand how things are.” At that ission, Monique had felt tears prick her eyes. “The kids miss you. Bina misses you too, as do I. But I hope you’re happy out there, Peanut. I know you’re making us proud.” She was grateful to still hear occasionally from Miss Yvonne and Bina. It made her feel less lonely now that she was back in L.A. Monique had also tried more than once in the past month to reach out to Justin, to see if the coldness he’d felt toward her had begun to thaw, but it hadn’t. All her calls and texts were ignored. All her emails went unanswered. She wasn’t surprised, but his stubborn silence still hurt. Out of all the things and people she had left behind in D.C., she missed Justin and Kayla the most. She wondered what they were doing and how they were faring. Was Kayla building up her confidence, or had she’d shrunk back into herself since Monique had last seen her? Would Justin ever forgive her for leaving again? Those questions kept her up at night, made her toss and turn and stare at the ceiling. She wondered if she would ever stop worrying about them. Would she ever get any peace? “OK, I think we’re gonna slick this back and have kind of a wet look cascading over your shoulders and down your back. How does that sound?” “Huh?” Monique asked dazedly as she was snapped back to the present. She looked up and blinked at her reflection. The makeup artist must have finished his handiwork. Now she barely recognized herself in the mirror. She looked like a futuristic Betty Boop. She’d been so lost in thought she hadn’t realized that a woman had replaced him—the video set’s hairstylist. “I said are you OK with me adding some extensions and slicking back your hair. I think that fits the concept of the video,” the stylist asked, squinting at her.

Monique nodded. “Sure. Whatever,” she mumbled then sank back into her chair. She reached for her phone and stared at her screen. She had sent another text to Justin that morning. Of course, he hadn’t replied. Her heart sank. “Miss Starr!” someone shouted as the door flew open. A woman wearing an offthe-shoulder sweater, cargo shorts, and bright orange crocs clamored inside the trailer. She rushed toward Monique, brandishing a silver vinyl suit with neon green shoulder pads. “Miss Starr!” she said breathlessly, like she’d been running. “I need you to try this on ASAP! I got your updated measurements and I’m worried the costume that wardrobe selected for you won’t fit. We may need to make some last-minute alterations.” “She can’t try it on now. I’m working on her hair,” the hair stylist argued, dropping her hand to her hip. “I was promised at least 30 minutes to do my work!” “But this is an emergency!” Orange Crocs shouted back. “A silver wet suit is not an emergency!” “Look, this is a size 2 bodysuit that I’m told now has to fit on a size 6 woman. I just want to know what alternations need to be made. Don’t shoot the messenger!” As Monique listened to the two women argue, her jaw tightened. She pushed herself to her feet, eased her way between them, grabbed her purse, and headed to the trailer door. “Hold up! I have to finish your hair, Miss Starr!” the stylist shouted after her. “And you still haven’t tried this on!” Orange Crocs lamented. “I need a break,” Monique said before letting the trailer door slam shut behind her.

***

“So this is where you went,” Sonia said, snickering as she sat on the bench beside Monique. “You know you look like a damn crazy person, sitting out here dressed like that, right?” Monique stopped licking her Rocky Road double-scoop ice cream cone long enough to glance down at herself. She was wearing a bathrobe, fluffy bedroom slippers, and garish, futuristic makeup while sitting on a bench outside of a shopping center a couple of blocks away from the video set. She probably did look insane like Sonia said, but she couldn’t work up the effort to care. She resumed licking her cone. “You better hope no paps are hanging around here! You’re gonna ruin all the good press we just built. And what’s with the ice cream? I thought you said you were on a diet!” “Not anymore,” Monique muttered, gazing at ersby. At least no one had approached her to ask for a picture or autograph. They must have all thought she was some deranged homeless woman with a penchant for heavy makeup. “Girl, what’s wrong? Ever since you’ve gotten back to L.A. something has been . . . off. You should be excited, but you seem off your game.” Monique sighed and lowered the ice cream from her mouth. “I just don’t think I can do this.” “What? Do the video? You saying you want shoot it another day?” Sonia asked, crossing her legs. “No, Sonia. I mean . . . I mean I don’t think I can do this anymore.” She gestured to herself. “All of this! The videos, the costumes, the publicity tour, the paps, the freaking out if I gain even a pound . . . I’m tired of it!” “Oh, girl, stop being melodramatic! If you need a few days to rejuvenate, just say so.” “I’m not being melodramatic! And I’m not talking about just a few days. Look, I love making music. I do. And I wanted the label to renew my contract, but it doesn’t seem worth it anymore . . . worth all I’m giving up in exchange.”

Sonia loudly sucked her teeth and rolled her eyes heavenward. “Here we go! I should’ve known this what happen!” “Should’ve known what would happen?” “You went home to D.C., got a dude to lay that pipe, and now you’re dickmatized!” Sonia said, making Monique glare at her. “Excuse me?” “You heard me! You didn’t have all this existential angst until that damn cop came into your life! But let me tell you somethin’,” she said, jabbing her finger at her, “there is no man . . . no man worth throwing away your life for! He may be fine. He may even be the bomb in bed, but that doesn’t mean he’s irreplaceable. If you want a new one out here, we can find you one. We can find you more than one! Hell, I keep four dudes and one broad on rotation at all times just in case I get bored with one them. But don’t fuck up your career over some good dick! That would be the dumbest move in the world.” Monique tossed her ice cream to the ground and shot to her feet. “I am not fucking up my career over some . . . some good dick! Give me some damn credit! I’d felt this way even before I went to D.C., Sonia. I’ve felt this way for years, but I didn’t know why. Being back home showed me the reason. It showed me that people and love are important, that . . . that I don’t want to spend my life chasing after the next goal and the next goal, only to end up rich, successful, and alone. I know that now!” “Oh, please! I’m not listening to this shit anymore.” Sonia rose to her feet, too. “You can save that speech for the Hallmark Channel. In the meantime, you need to suck it up and head back to the set. You’ve got a video to shoot.” Monique shook her head, holding her ground. “No. I told you that I can’t do this anymore!” “So that’s it? You’re going to flake out on a crew of more than a 100 people? You’re just gonna give up? I thought you were on your grind and ready to put in the work, Monique.” She eyed her, almost with disgust. “I swear I don’t recognize you anymore.” “I don’t recognize me, either,” Monique said with a shrug. “But I’m OK with

that.” She then shoved her hands into the pockets of her robe and walked away, knowing what she had to do.

Chapter 16

Justin squinted into the smoke rising off of the grill, frantically waving his hand and an oven mitt in front of his face. He hacked and coughed. “We want our burgers well done, baby,” his mother chided playfully behind him while carrying a platter of watermelon, cantaloupe, and pineapple slices to one of the picnic tables, “not burnt.” “I am aware, Mama. Thanks,” he replied before using tongs to peel off the last remains of charred ground beef from the grill and drop it into the trash can behind him. “Guess that one gets sacrificed to the cookout gods,” he muttered before reaching for the beer sitting near the grill. He took a drink. He was holding the late-summer housewarming to show off his new home. After painting, scrubbing, and a bit of handiwork, Justin had finally gotten the house to the state he’d wanted. Even Kayla had decorated her room the way she liked in shades of lavender and pastel yellow. Every piece of furniture was in its right place. Every photo was hung. And yet, Justin didn’t feel settled for some reason. He gazed around him at the more than two dozen people who were at the cookout. Several of his fellow police officers were in attendance, including Simone who had brought a date—a quiet, unassuming guy she’d probably dump by the end of the night. Some of his mother’s neighbors also came to today, along with a few of his friends. Kayla had even invited a girl from her dance class. They both did a little dance routine to the music that played on the speakers connected to his iPod. But Justin still sensed someone was missing. He knew who that someone was. Don’t even think about her, he silently told himself. The last time she had pulled a disappearing act to search for her fortune and fame, he had let it rip him apart. It had taken him years to recover. He refused to do it this time around. Sure, he’d had quite a few sleepless nights and listless days when he could barely concentrate on what was happening around him, but he knew from experience things would get better eventually. Time heals all

wounds. Monique had tried more than once to reach out to him, but he wouldn’t let her sidetrack him from his “recovery.” This time he would truly move on from her. “Hey, you need some help with them burgers, son,” one his mother’s neighbors asked, a grizzled old man in cut-off denims and a sweat-stained fishing cap. “Nah, I think I got it this time,” Justin said with a smile lowering his beer bottle from his lips. “All right. All right! I’ll let you do your thing.” He thumped Justin on the shoulder. “But I hope you aren’t using just any ol’ charcoal. I only use—” “Monique!” he heard Kayla squeal over the sound of music and laughter. Justin frowned and looked over the hood of the grill, wondering if his ears were playing tricks on him. He watched as Kayla galloped around picnic tables and across the backyard, almost tripping in her flip flops as she ran toward the white arbor that led toward the front yard. “Monique! Monique!” she screamed. Underneath the arbor stood Monique in a teal sundress with spaghetti straps, holding an oversized sunflower bouquet. She pushed her sunglasses to the crown of her head and smiled anxiously at the crowd of people who all had turned in their chairs and stopped talking to stare at her. When Justin saw her, he felt his stomach twist into a series of knots. His body flared with heat. He felt a wave of longing followed by a rush of anger. “What on earth is she doing here?” his mother asked, giving voice to the question that had popped in his head. “Justin, did you invite her?” He couldn’t respond. Words clogged in his throat. He watched as Kayla leapt at Monique, wrapping her arms around her waist, making Monique drop the bouquet to the ground. Monique’s hesitant smile widened into a full grin as she leaned down and hugged Kayla back. The two embraced for several seconds, like long lost friends who hadn’t seen each other all summer. Justin sat down his tongs, oven mitt, and beer. He walked around the grill and

headed across the yard toward them. “Monique! What are you doing here? Daddy didn’t tell me you were coming to his party,” Kayla cried, bouncing on the balls of her feet. “That’s because your daddy didn’t know I was coming,” Monique said. “I didn’t even know he was having a party today, to be honest.” She raised her eyes to look at him. “Hi, Justin. I hope I’m not intruding.” He didn’t respond. He couldn’t. He worried what might come out. “Let me show you my room!” Kayla finally let go of Monique’s waist and grabbed her by the hand. She began to tug her toward the patio stairs. “It’s so pretty, Monique. I designed it myself. Daddy let me pick out the curtains and I got these pillows from—” “I’d love to, honey, but can I talk to your Daddy first?” Kayla looked up at Justin then back at Monique then back at Justin again. She gradually nodded. “OK.” “Go back to your grandma while we talk,” Justin said. His voice sounded foreign to his own ears. Kayla did as she was told though she seemed to do it with reluctance. Monique bent down to retrieve the bouquet of sunflowers. She held them out to him. “I brought this to you for . . . for your n-new h-home,” she stuttered. He didn’t take the flowers. “Let’s go inside,” he said, feeling the weight of several eyes on his back. He had no intention of treating his guests to this little soap opera. He walked under the arbor and rounded toward the front of the house, climbing the porch steps, and opening his front door. He closed it behind them. The foyer was mostly quiet with the exception of the tick of the grandfather clock in the living room and the faraway sound of voices and music coming from the backyard.

“I’m trying to real hard to understand why you thought it was OK to show up here today,” he began calmly. “I wouldn’t have done it if I thought I had another choice.” “What the hell is that supposed to mean?” “It means I tried calling you, Justin.” She sat the bouquet on the cherry wood console near his door. “You never returned my calls.” “And why the fuck should I?” He could feel the reins he had on his control loosening. “We said all that we had to say! Why the hell were you calling me anyway?” “Because I missed you. I missed you and I missed Kayla,” she itted, staring down at her hands. “I missed you so much it hurt.” At those words, he felt his anger wane a little. But he reminded himself that Monique had pulled this song and dance with him before. “So you came back to visit? How long are you in D.C. this time? One week? Two?” “I’m here indefinitely. I moved. I’m selling my bungalow in L.A.” Justin narrowed his eyes at her. “What do you mean you moved? Why are you moving? I thought you had to stay back there to finish and promote your album. How are you going to do all that while you’re out here?” She looked away again, staring out his bay window. “I’m not. I told my manager and my label that I’m ready to take a break. They offered to renew my contract for four more albums, but I said no. I turned them down.” His face went blank. “You said no?” She nodded. “I told them I’m tired of being Monique Starr. I want to try being Monique Neumann again, if I can. They told me I’m making the biggest mistake of my life.” She shrugged. “They may be right, but I have to do what feels good for me. I have to trust my gut.”

He took a step toward her then another. “Are you telling me the truth? Did you really walk away?” She looked at him again. “It’s the God’s honest truth. I am officially without a label—and without a manager. I have a job now though. Miss Yvonne is letting me come on full time at the Academy.” “But why would you give all that up?” “I didn’t see it as giving up something. I’m getting back a lot of things I gave up a long time ago! I got to experience a life that many people don’t. I was on the music charts, sold out concerts, and hung out with celebrities.” She shrugged again. “Now I’m ready to try something different.” He was amazed at how blasé she sounded, and surprisingly, how at peace she seemed. She’d just turned her life upside down. Shouldn’t she be upset? “Well, anyway . . . I just wanted to tell you all of this in case we run into each other again at the Academy or around town. I didn’t want it to be too awkward, even though that’s kinda unavoidable.” She pursed her lips. “You don’t have to forgive me for how I treated you . . . how I handled this . . . this thing between us, but I hope one day that you will. You’re a good man, Justin, and I know you deserve better than what I gave you. I just wish I’d . . .” Her voice faltered. She cleared her throat. “I should let you get back to your party. I didn’t mean to take you away from your guests. Tell Kayla that I’m sorry I couldn’t see her room. Make up some excuse for me, please?” She then gazed around her. “Your home turned out great by the way, but I knew it would. It looks like you.” He watched as she walked back toward his front door. His stomach twisted into knots again and the heat he’d felt before flared into a five-alarm blaze. Time seemed to slow down, extending the seconds, turning the world around them into a series of still photos. He could see her walking across the foyer toward the front door, reaching for it, and twisting the brass handle. He could see himself easing around her, shutting the door close just as she opened it. Monique turned and stared up at him in surprise. “What are you—” She didn’t get to finish. He cupped her face and lowered his mouth to hers,

smothering her question before she could ask it.

Epilogue

“Why am I so tired?” Monique asked with a loud yawn as she gazed out the window of Justin’s SUV at the roadway and sidewalk. She watched morning joggers and workers zigzag their way past each other. “Probably because some rude ass kept you up most of the night,” Justin replied with a smirk, making a right at the traffic light. “Ah, yes! Now I !” She gave a winsome smile. “And I enjoyed it thoroughly.” They had spent most of the night making love after downing half a bottle of prosecco to celebrate the long awaited release of her new album. She would spend about two weeks promoting it at the end of the month to fulfill her obligations to her record label but after that, she planned to stay close to home, settling into the house she now shared with Justin. He claimed he was letting her stay there until she found a place of her own that she wanted to purchase, but she knew he wasn’t in a hurry for her to leave. His Mama on the other hand wasn’t too keen on the idea of them living together. “Who knows when you plan to up and high-tail it out of here again,” Latrice had mumbled the last time she’d visited the house. “You know what they say, Monique: three strikes and you’re out!” Monique had bit back her tart reply. She knew though Justin had forgiven her, it would take much longer to earn other people’s trust. Latrice was just worried about her son, even if it came off as a little overly protective. Hopefully, Monique could win her over with time. At least Kayla was excited Monique was back in town. She and the little girl had definitely bonded. On the weekends Kayla spent at her father’s house, she and Monique enjoyed testing online recipes and forcing Justin to be their guinea pig. They’d even started to write songs together. Kayla wanted to sing one of their songs at Academy’s winter performance. Monique also suspected the little girl took some pride in having her father dating a famous person, but Monique

suspected that fame was waning already. She noticed that fans spotted her less and less these days. When she’d gone grocery shopping this weekend, she had someone tap her on the shoulder. “Excuse me? Can I ask you something?” the old woman had said. Monique had whipped off her sunglasses and had been about to say, “Yes, I’m Monique Starr, and yes, I’ll take one quick picture with you,” only to have the old woman say, “I’m sorry to bother you, but I can’t reach the can of peaches on the shelf over there. Would you be a sweetheart and get one for me?” Monique had almost laughed. She’d nodded. “Of course, ma’am.” Justin now pulled into the Academy’s parking lot, coming to a stop along the curb. “When does your shift end today?” she asked him as she unbuckled her seatbelt. “About 5 o’clock. I should be back here by 5:45 if nothing pops up.” “You be careful, Officer Mailer. I’m going to be really pissed if something happens to you.” “I’ll be fine,” he murmured just as she leaned over to give him a quick peck goodbye. The peck quickly became a lot more heated, forcing her to pry her mouth away from his. “Go, or you’ll miss roll call!” “I’ve got a little time,” he said, pulling her back to him. “I mean it, Justin!” She shoved away from him and slapped his chest. “Get out of here before you start something you can’t finish!” “Fine,” he muttered. She opened the enger side door and hopped out. She shut the door behind her and waved as he pulled off. She started to turn and head toward the Academy’s glass doors but paused when she saw that Justin had braked near the parking lot’s entrance. She watched as he pulled into a vacant parking space, opened the driver’s side door, and climbed out. He walked toward a rusted forest green Ford Taurus and leaned down. He cupped his hands and

gazed into the window. “Justin!” Monique called as she walked across the parking lot toward him. “Justin, what’s wrong?” He didn’t answer her. Instead, he started knocking on the glass. “Ma’am,” Monique could hear him say as she drew closer. He was using his official police officer voice. “Ma’am, wake up! This is a private parking lot. You can’t sleep here.” Monique stared into the window he was knocking and saw a woman sitting in the driver’s seat slowly sit up. She had been slumped down in the seat prior. When Justin knocked again, the woman yawned and smacked her lips. She scratched her shoulder, turned, and squinted hazel eyes up at them. “Is the school open yet?” the woman croaked tiredly, lowering the window. Monique gawked. “Oh, my . . . oh, my God!” Monique exclaimed. “Jen, is that you?” Justin squinted and pointed to the woman. “You know this person?” “Yeah, I know her! You do, too! It’s Jen . . . Jennifer Dudley. We used to go to the Academy together. We were besties, but I haven’t seen her in years!” Jennifer stared at her, as if finally ing her. “Oh. Hey, Monique,” she said flatly. “Jen, what are you doing here, girl?” she asked as Jennifer finally opened the door and unsteadily got to her feet. “Coffee,” Jennifer said, shoving her fingers into her matted hair. “I need coffee. And I need to talk to Miss Yvonne.”

Table of Contents

Title Page Copyright Page A Note from the Author About This Book Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Chapter 7 Chapter 8 Chapter 9 Chapter 10 Chapter 11 Chapter 12 Chapter 13

Chapter 14 Chapter 15 Chapter 16 Epilogue

Guide

Cover