Maybe Next Time Read online

  My face pulled into a scowl. “Nigga, what?”

  “I’m just telling you what I see,” he shrugged. “Yeah, you’ve been married longer, so maybe the shit looks different for you, I can’t say. But what I can say is, unless you actually want a divorce, ‘calling her bluff’ is about the worst fucking thing you could do.”

  Still scowling, I settled further into the plush leather backing of the chair, letting my gaze lock on the ceiling. The textured detail there, thin wooden planks laid in a herringbone pattern, had been Kensa’s idea.

  Plumes was my business, my playground, but her touch was everywhere here, actually. From the ceilings to the chairs to the air-cleaning plants she’d insisted on, helping me create the energy I knew I wanted, but couldn’t see clearly in my head.

  She was always like that.

  Always had been, since the moment we met. Always with the perfect complement, the missing piece, the… missing fucking peace.

  She hadn’t been on that in a minute though.

  “So what the fuck am I supposed to do then?”

  “Well… a good place to start would probably be figuring out first why Kensa wants a divorce.”

  I sucked my teeth. “That woman doesn’t want a divorce.”

  “I think that’s part of your problem right there,” King chuckled. “You’re taking for granted that she’s playing–but what if she’s not?”

  I was quiet for a moment, then shook my head. “I can’t even engage that as a possibility right now.”

  “Fair enough. Let’s say you’re right though, and she doesn’t actually want a divorce. But she had you served with the papers. Twice. Why?”

  I momentarily abandoned the cigar to opt for the bourbon I’d damn near forgotten on the table next to me. I took a mouthful of the cold liquor, swallowed, then hiked a shoulder. “Who the fuck knows? Making sure I know she’s pissed? Seeking attention?”

  King whistled. “Shiiit. A wife who needs more attention is a dangerous thing. Real dangerous. What is she pissed about?”

  “We fought. A few weeks ago. Never really got past it.”

  “What was the fight about?”

  I blew out a sigh, returning my gaze to the ceiling. “About me not paying enough attention.”

  “Wow. You really are a fuck-up.”

  My whole face pulled into a frown as I dropped my gaze back to him. “The fuck?”

  “Your wife has been begging your ass for weeks to give her some face time, but you’ve got your ass in here acting confused about divorce papers. Yo–you’re deadass with this? Like… for real, nigga?”

  “Fuck you,” I grunted, shaking my head. “I didn’t say she was on me about it for weeks. I said the conflict was weeks ago. The shit she came to me with was out of the blue—claiming I wasn’t spending enough time with her, asking me if there was somebody else, acting like she didn’t think I was attracted to her anymore. Which… the fuck? Like, has she seen herself?”

  King smirked. “Kensa is fine. Like… been bad, still bad. Respectfully, of course.”

  “Right. So… I wasn’t trying to hear that shit. I had a lot going on with Benoit Financial, two of my clients being audited—”

  “You do have a lot going on with your job–you’ve been a hard man to get ahold of, for like… a nice little minute. Not downplaying the importance of your business, but… shit, man. Maybe you’ve gotta scale back some so your lady knows you still see her.”

  I shook my head. “Maybe I’d buy that, if she herself hadn’t been on her shit all the time too. Kensa has been eating, sleeping, breathing HLT since…”

  When I let that trail off without finishing, Kingston frowned.

  “Since… what?”

  I drained the rest of my glass down my throat. “Since last year.”

  As soon as King caught on to what I was talking about… there was an instant shift in the energy of the room.

  “Shit,” he muttered. “How are you—”

  “I’m good,” I spoke up, before he could even get the question out.

  His raised eyebrow told me my words weren’t very convincing.

  “Look… I know the shit is rough, aiight? Like, firsthand. You remember the shit I went through with Robyn.”

  I nodded.

  His unfaithful fiancé, though it was much more complicated than that.

  Yeah, I remembered.

  “I’m just saying,” he continued. “You don’t get past it overnight. Shit like that… it hangs over you, and it takes more than just wishing it away. You’ve gotta really… like… tackle it. Even now, with me and Asha… man, I worry. A lot.”

  “Marriage has made you emotional as fuck, nigga.”

  King sat back, chuckling. “Yeah, try to play the shit off–I can take whatever you throw over here, bruh.” He shrugged. “I’m just saying… just because you claim you’re good, doesn’t mean Kensa is. Maybe she’s struggling, and crying out to you for help the only way her stubborn ass knows how.”

  I frowned. “By asking for a divorce?”

  “Nah. By picking a fight about you being too busy, even though she’s busy as fuck herself. By asking if there’s someone else. By questioning your attraction to her. Maybe none of those things are wrong, but something is, and instead of addressing the shit, you brushed her off. So she asked for a divorce.”

  I swallowed, hard.

  More than anything, I wanted to give his assertion some pushback, but… there wasn’t any room for that.

  Not when he was right.

  I’d escalated this situation.

  Not her.

  “Ay… I’ve gotta get back to my wife,” King said, pulling himself from the lounge chairs we’d been occupying while we talked. “Let me be clear–I’m not trying to put the shit all on you, or act like I’ve never fucked up with mine. Cause…”

  “That shit is a fantasy?”

  He laughed. “Yeah, exactly. I’m just saying… between Asha, and Alicia, and listening to my mother, Zoraya, all that… Kensa just wants to be heard, and taken care of. Whatever that means for her. I know you love that woman, right?”

  Standing to meet him, I scoffed. “That shit ain’t even in question.”

  “Okay then. I don’t wanna hear shit about no lawyers, you calling her bluff, whatever. Maybe it’s not all on you, maybe she’s wrong too. Hell, maybe she’s more wrong–who gives a fuck? That’s your wife.”

  “Heard you,” I nodded, extending a hand in his direction. He clasped it, pulling me into a quick hug that I easily–gratefully–returned.

  “So… what’s up? What are you going to do? You need me to do something?” he asked, as we headed to the door.

  “I don’t know yet,” I answered. “I’ve still got some shit to think through.”

  He nodded. “Just let me know. You and Kensa are family, and I don’t… I don’t want to see this shit happen if it doesn’t have to. And you know mama will kick your ass over her Kenni.”

  I shook my head, chuckling. “It ain’t Aunt Angie I’m worried about, it’s that damn sister of yours. I’ve still got beef with her over Kensa’s bachelorette party.”

  “Let that hurt go,” King laughed. “I’ll catch you later.”

  Once King was gone, I moved back to my desk, where I poured myself a fresh glass of bourbon. Just on the other side of the wall, music was pounding, drinks flowing, smoke filling the air as my patrons enjoyed themselves.

  It gave me no pleasure.

  Usually, I was thrilled to have a packed cigar bar, especially on the days I’d spent wringing all my mental energy into client accounts at Benoit Financial.

  Plumes was a haven.

  For a while now though, I’d gotten no joy from it–it was just a given.

  I wasn’t sure she believed it, but when my wife wasn’t happy, neither was I.

  So… I sat back in my chair, with my drink and a fresh cigar…

  Plotting.

  I’d given Kensa my word, she wasn’t going to like how I played
along with the energy she’d been giving me lately.

  I had no intentions of letting her down.

  Four

  Was tiredness just my default state now?

  Shit.

  The words on the too-bright screen in front of me swam, rendered unrecognizable by excess moisture my fatigued eyes were producing to keep from drying out. I’d been actively engaged in work way past my reasonable threshold and awake even longer than that.

  But… what else was to be expected when your trusty assistant quit because your husband pulled a gun on him?

  Denver’s ass was gonna pay me back for the check I had to write Jeremy to keep him from pursuing charges.

  Not that the money was relevant; it wasn’t. It was just another way I’d get to poke at Denver, making sure he felt the full weight of my wrath.

  Is that what having his face buried in your pussy was about too, sis?

  Ugh.

  My face flushed with heat, thinking about that moment in the garage.

  It was pitiful, I knew.

  As angry as I was at my husband, as hurt as I was by his actions, as done as I was with the marriage? None of that seemed to hold up against the fact that Denver absolutely ruled my body, and I had a hard time finding any shame about it.

  Him not touching me for the last… however many months… that shit had been excruciating. So, who could blame me, really, for not being immune to the allure of Denver Benoit? From the looks he got, to the looks I got for being on his arm, there was little doubt in my mind that a tall, chocolate, handsome, rich man could have anybody he wanted give themselves gladly to whatever he wanted.

  There was a time when I’d been certain all he wanted was me.

  Now?

  That certainty was a distant memory.

  Sure, he’d looked very devoted when he was kneeling between my legs to worship at the altar of my pussy–I’d been the one to scrub the security video from the garage–but it was so easy to pretend in moments.

  Harder, though, to keep up the façade long term.

  Like the length of a marriage.

  Frustrated now by the path I’d let my mind travel, I closed my computer, pushing out a long, heavy sigh. I let my eyelids fall, intending to take just a moment of rest, but when I next opened them, a whole five minutes had passed.

  It was time to call it a night.

  Past time.

  For the few days since Jeremy’s abrupt departure, I’d been working too long and sleeping too little… which, actually wasn’t much different from what I’d spent the last year doing anyway. Only, having an assistant had lessened the workload.

  Now, it was all on me, and I couldn’t pass any of the burden to Nessa or Trace, since they each had their own shit to handle.

  Suck it up, buttercup.

  I pulled myself from my seat, stepping into my private bathroom where I relieved myself, washed my hands, then wet down a few paper towels with cold water. I pressed them to my neck and chest, letting the frigid water give me a little shock to wake me up. Just enough to get home, where I would put my fresh new tranquilizer prescription to use.

  Nessa had called in my private doctor, Loren, to check on me here at the office. She’d taken one look at me and insisted I needed to sleep before it started taking a real toll on my health.

  I didn’t need those problems.

  Once I’d finished up in the bathroom, I stepped out to my office to grab my things. One of the perks of running a business like this one with my siblings was twenty-four-hour car service. The amenity we’d brought on as an additional offering had come in handy more than once for our own personal use.

  The back seat of the vehicle I’d chosen was a little too comfortable though.

  That was the only explanation–other than my utter exhaustion–for why, almost as soon as the vehicle took off, my eyes drifted closed and I found myself fighting sleep. This was exactly what I’d been trying to avoid with that little splash of cold water, which was not doing much for me at all.

  Definitely a good idea for me to not try driving myself home.

  Now, if only it was this easy at the right times to fall asleep.

  Eventually, my body gave in—I just accepted my fate. I gave up trying to force my eyes open, and simply gave way to the overwhelming urge to relax into the soft leather of the back seat and nap until the driver had pulled up at my place.

  Luckily, I came awake as soon as the vehicle came to a stop, taking away the tranquilizing effect of the steady lull of motion. It would’ve been a little embarrassing if the driver had to wake me up.

  I opened my groggy eyes, and reached for my purse, ready to take the short trip upstairs to the condo. Only when my door opened, it wasn’t the driver on the other side.

  It was Denver.

  “Long time, no see, sweetheart.”

  First of all, it had not been a long time at all.

  It had only been a couple days since he popped up in the HLT garage. He’d been conspicuously absent since then, not responding to any attempt at communication through my lawyer, so I’d really just been waiting for whenever he was going to pop back up with some bullshit.

  “Whatever this is, we’re going to have to do it another time,” I told him, shaking my head. “I don’t have the energy for it right now.”

  Instead of reacting to that, he offered me a hand to help me out of the car. Reluctantly, I took it… and just a few seconds later, I wished I hadn’t.

  “What the fuck is this?”

  I was not outside of my building at all — instead I was at the HLT airfield.

  Damn, just how long was I asleep in that car?

  “Come on, sweetheart,” Denver said, pulling at my hand. “We’ve got a flight.”

  I snatched away from him. “I’m not going anywhere with you until you tell me what the hell this is.”

  “This is me making an attempt to fix whatever is happening between me and my wife.”

  I scoffed. “So… what, you think a bit of light abduction is going to lead me back to your arms?”

  Denver’s handsome face twisted into a thoughtful scowl for a moment as he considered my words. Then he looked me right in the eyes, answered, “Yes,” and instead of waiting on me to agree to a damn thing he simply picked me up, tossing me over his shoulder to make his way to the private jet that was waiting for us.

  “Put me down!” I screeched, doing as much struggling and fighting as I could with my purse still clutched in my hand. Denver ignored all that — as did the driver, and presumably the pilot, and flight attendant if any was on duty — easily getting me onto the plane and tossing me into the seat.

  “You may as well calm all that shit down, Kensa,” he told me, smirking. “Nothing you can do or say is going to stop this from happening.”

  “You’re a fucking criminal,” I snapped, watching as he went to close and secure the door himself, meaning there likely wouldn’t be a flight attendant on with us; we both knew all the protocols. It wasn’t until after he’d poked his head into the cockpit to speak to the pilot that he turned back to give my accusation a response.

  “Okay,” he shrugged. “You didn’t mind that when we met,” he teased. “You too good for it now?”

  I rolled my eyes. “I’m not above anything except staying with a man who’s made it clear he doesn’t want me.”

  “Here you go with this shit again.”

  “Yeah, Denver, here I go,” I snapped. “I don’t know why you’re expecting something different. I’m suddenly supposed to believe you give a shit because you’re… what? Taking me to Paris for a night or something? How original,” I huffed. “You can do all this, but not something as simple as just fucking listening when I came to you to tell you I was hurting.”

  “You didn’t come to say you were hurting,” Denver barked. “You came to me with some bullshit and you’re goddamn right I wasn’t trying to hear that.”

  “Well I demand to be heard, and if you aren’t trying to do it, then how a
bout you just get out of my way? Cause you’re not trying to fix anything; you’re trying to preserve your image. Losing your wife? Ha! Denver Benoit couldn’t possibly take another blow like that to his ego.”

  His mouth twisted, confused. “Another blow to my… what are you even talking about?”

  “You know exactly what I’m talking about,” I snapped, giving him a pointed glare until his eyes went wide with understanding.

  And then, they narrowed, accompanied by a harsh tightening of his jaw. “That’s really what you think of me? That’s what you believe?”

  I tossed my hands up. “Well it’s not like you’ve given me anything else, so what should I believe? I know what happened, and how you treated me after. You could barely look at me, wouldn’t touch me. I embarrassed you — betrayed you. I get it. And I get that we’re done. So why can’t you?”

  “Because there ain’t shit for me to get,” he retorted. “I said ’til death do us part, and I meant that shit. I’m not interested in running away just because it’s getting a little grimy instead of the picture perfect, squeaky clean existence you’re looking for. We haven’t even tried to muddle through it, and yet you’re in my face talking about we’re done. Ain’t no done, Kensa!” he asserted, with a harsh growl in his tone. “You are my wife, and nothing about that has changed. Whatever shit we gotta deal with, buckle up sweetheart and let’s do it. But what’s not about to happen is you walking away from me like those vows didn’t mean shit.”

  “You are really talking some big shit to have told me you weren’t gonna chase me. Grow up. That’s what you told me,” I bitterly reminded him, blinking back tears. “Or are we acting like I made that up?”

  He huffed. “You’re not making it up, no, but I didn’t… I didn’t mean it like that. It wasn’t meant to be a goddamn dare.”

  “Right,” I nodded. “You expected me to… what, just take it? Just accept it? I’m supposed to just swallow whatever you toss my way and ignore the fact that I’m… fucking… I’m starving here!” I admitted, then instantly buttoned my lips closed, knowing I’d said too much. But it was out now and I couldn’t just sweep it back up to be tucked away.