I Heard A Rumor Page 2

  “This is a six-hundred-dollar suit you just ruined.”

  “You ruined my life, and that’s priceless.”

  Robert brushed the dirt, leaves, and petals from his heather-gray suit and glared at Chante. “You and Liza owe me.”

  She started to hurl her broom at him like a long dart. “I owe you?”

  “You bitches ruined my life. I was a shoo-in to win that senate seat, but . . .”

  This time, Chante didn’t stop herself from throwing her broom at him. “I don’t owe you a damned thing. It’s because of you that I’m suspended from my law firm. Now you’ve put me in the middle of your harebrained idea that the people of Charlotte want your lying ass to be their mayor. Do you ever think before you start talking? How did you even make it through law school? You’re a damned idiot!”

  “All I need is for you to just show up at a few appearances. We can tell everyone, after I get elected, that things didn’t work out. I can’t get people on board if you won’t forgive me. We don’t have to get married. I’m fine with that.”

  Chante blinked and shook her head. “You have truly lost your damned mind. Why would I help you defraud people?”

  Robert narrowed his eyes at her, and Chante struggled to keep her hands to herself. “I was supposed to be the first senator for District Forty-five. You were supposed to be my wife . . .”

  “And you weren’t supposed to pay for sex from a hooker! Had that not happened, maybe you would’ve won and maybe I would’ve been stupid enough to marry you. Then you would’ve gone to Raleigh and turned into the asshole that people already know you are. I can’t believe I thought I loved you.”

  “Please,” he said with a snort. “You’re desperate. You may have your career, but you want and need a man in your bed. I was just as much of a means to an end for you as you were for me. So don’t stand there and act as if you were in love with me. You loved the image. You wanted the power as much as I did. It kills you that Liza is the one who ended up with it, doesn’t it? You can say she’s your best friend, but you’re jealous. She has the life everyone thought was yours for the taking.”

  “Get the hell off my property and don’t come back.”

  “Hurts to see Liza living your life, doesn’t it?” He sneered at her.

  Chante slammed into her house, shivering with anger. She wasn’t going to allow him to do this again. She wasn’t going to let him interfere with her and Liza’s friendship, like he did when they were engaged.

  Liza deserved her happiness with Jackson. Besides, what kind of life would she and Robert have had? It was clear that their engagement had been nothing but a political tool. She would’ve found out too late that he was a no good piece of cow dung, and then where would she have been? Depressed and divorced?

  I bet my mother would accept me as a divorcée more than she would like me being single for the rest of my life, she thought bitterly.

  Chante made sure Robert was gone, and then she headed to the uptown YMCA to take her aggression out on a heavy bag.

  When she arrived at the YMCA, Chante realized that hiding out from the media wasn’t going to be easy. Two photographers appeared out of nowhere as she walked into the gym. Chante sidestepped them and hid out in the locker room, where she overheard two women talking about Robert’s interview on the news.

  “I can’t believe how desperate some women are,” one said as she stuffed her feet into her sneakers. “That man slept with a hooker and she took him back?”

  “So you don’t believe in forgiveness?” the other woman asked.

  “Hell no. He might have some STD, and she’s so desperate that she’s going to stand by him. Bye, Felicia.”

  “I mean, I would think she would have more pride, but who knows? That man looks like he can put it down.”

  “She’s dick-matized, then?”

  When Chante heard the women laughing, she made her presence known. “First of all, you can’t believe everything you see on TV,” she said. “And from the looks of both of you, I’m sure you would take any man who smiled at you into your arms and forgive him for all of his shortcomings. Don’t judge me because you have no standards!”

  Chante strode out of the locker room, leaving the two women with their mouths hanging open. As she walked into the lobby, she saw a cluster of cameras and reporters standing out in front of the Y.

  “There goes my peaceful workout,” she muttered when she locked eyes with one of the reporters.

  She wasn’t going to live like this, running from the media and arguing with strangers because of Robert’s lies. As much as she wanted to go home to Summerville and hang out with her father, Chante knew she’d have to explain too much to her mother, who would somehow make this all her fault.

  Charleston. That’s where she could go and snuggle up with her grandmother until all of this blew over. If she were lucky, while she was gone some athlete or another politician would make the news for something even more ridiculous than Robert’s stupid press conference. She dashed out the basement entrance and avoided the waiting reporters.

  Heading home, Chante made up her mind to go to her grandmother’s house in Charleston and relax in the South Carolina sun. When she arrived at her house, she wasn’t surprised to see a TV truck parked on the street. Part of her wanted to flip the cameraman and the reporter off, but she just walked inside and started packing for her trip.

  “I’m going to enjoy getting out of this city,” she muttered as she stuffed her clothes into her suitcase.

  Sunset in Charleston was a sight to behold, Zach thought. Either that or he was very drunk and everything just looked gorgeous. As he stood on the balcony of his hotel room, he watched the golden light of the sun bathe the city. Maybe Charleston was where he needed to start over. No one here knew who he was or, more importantly, who his ex-wife was. But Zach couldn’t deny that he was a son of the city. He’d grown up in the Bronx, in Riverdale, where his father, Zachary Sr., made the family’s fortune in real estate.

  After his father’s death, Zach took over the company, moving into all of the boroughs of New York. The company grew to rival Donald Trump’s empire, without the bankruptcies. Maybe he could have that success down south. It was nice not to be known and to be able to move around without being linked to Natalie’s crimes.

  Natalie, he thought. How did I miss what was really going on with us? When Zach and Natalie met, he’d been in a Manhattan nightclub nursing an overpriced drink with his homeboy, Adrian Bryant. Adrian had been in New York quasi-stalking photographer Dana Singleton. The Los Angeles club owner had broken up with his ladylove after his mother’s deathbed confession about who his real father was—hotel magnate Elliot Crawford. Dana had abandoned the Corvette he’d given her at LAX, and he just wanted to make sure she was all right. What he’d been doing for the last three hours had been ranting in Zach’s ear about how much he wanted revenge on his family.

  Zach had started to tune his friend out, and that had been when he caught her eye. A chocolate-brown beauty with shoulder-length auburn hair and a full bosom that made his mouth water. She’d lifted her glass to him, and Zach turned to Adrian, “Bruh,” he’d said, “hold that thought.” Zach had risen from his seat and walked over to the beauty on the other side of the bar.

  “Hello, beautiful,” he’d whispered in her ear.

  “I was wondering if you’d noticed me.”

  “How could I not? You’re a hard woman to miss.”

  “I’m Natalie Norman.”

  “I think Natalie Harrington sounds a lot better.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “I’m Zachary Harrington, and you’re going to be my wife,” he’d said with a wink.

  “What if I’m one of those women who don’t believe in marriage?”

  “Then it’s up to me to change your mind. Do you know that you’re the most beautiful woman in the room?”

  She’d smiled, and he’d felt his groin jump with anticipation. “I’ve heard that line before. How are you going to
prove you’re different?”

  “Why don’t we get out of here and talk about it?” Zach had waved for the bartender and paid Natalie’s tab.

  “Sounds good to me.”

  Glancing over at Adrian, who was on his cell phone, Zach had given him the peace sign with his two fingers and left with Natalie. That night, they had gone to a diner, drunk coffee, and laughed about life and the other diners who’d come in.

  It had been about six a.m. when they’d left, hand in hand. Zach wanted to take her to his penthouse in Harlem, but he’d played it cool. But damn, he’d wanted her. She’d been funny, smart, and beautiful. Who wouldn’t have wanted to spend the night with her? Now he wished he’d stayed in the club and listened to Adrian bitch and moan about Dana and his new family.

  Sighing, Zach headed back into his room. He glanced at the television just in time to see Natalie’s image on CNN. Rolling his eyes and hating himself for being curious about the latest in her melodrama, Zach turned up the volume.

  “Alleged Harlem Madame Natalie Harrington was in court today looking for a deal in her money-laundering and tax-evasion case, which stems from her alleged call-girl ring. But superior court judge Logan Beck was led away in handcuffs after the FBI burst into the courtroom,” the anchor said. “Sources close to the investigation said Harrington and Beck both had a connection with the prostitution ring.”

  Zach shut the television off. He needed one more drink. Instead of raiding the minibar, he decided to try to salvage the sunset and headed to the hotel’s restaurant.

  Chante pulled into her grandmother’s driveway and immediately decided that God was playing a huge practical joke on her. She knew Elsie Mae was getting the house renovated, but did she really have to have it gutted? Chante knew there was going to be no way she could stay there when she saw the tub and the toilet on the front lawn. Staying in the cottage where she and her grandmother used to have tea and talk about the future might have been an option, but that hadn’t been her plan, and the workers were loud. She had come to Charleston to relax, and she wasn’t going to go to her parents’ house. There would be no relaxation in Summerville.

  Still, she hoped there would be a slight chance that she could at least give her grandmother a hug as she stepped out of her car.

  “Hello,” she said as she walked up to the porch. A portly man in a pair of dusty overalls crowded the doorway.

  “Can I hep’ ya?” he asked, then spat on the ground.

  “Who are you?” Chanted asked with her nose wrinkled.

  “Norman Locklear, foreman on this here site. What can I do for ya?”

  “I’m looking for the woman who owns this house.” Chante folded her arms across her chest. “And just what in the hell are you all doing?”

  “Who are you, lil’ lady?”

  “Attorney Chante Britt. Now answer my question!”

  The man laughed. “Miss Elsie told me about you, and she left you something. Hold tight.” He turned and headed back into the house. Chante felt as if she was going to scream. This was not the escape she’d planned. And where was her grandmother? She should’ve taken heed of the fact that she couldn’t reach her on the phone. Elsie Mae always answered her phone calls.

  “Here ya go,” the man said when he handed her an envelope.

  Chante offered him a faint smile and said thank you. She walked off the porch and headed to her car. She ripped the envelope open and read her grandmother’s note.

  Chante,

  Darling, I got your message while I was out in international waters, and I couldn’t call you back. If you’ve made it to Charleston, you see that my house isn’t fit to live in. This project has turned into a full-out restoration. So I decided to let my contractors do their job. I’m so sorry about all the madness you’re going through. You’re a better woman than I am because I’d string that Robert Montgomery up by his nuts. (Sorry, baby, I just don’t like men taking advantage of women for their own personal gain.)

  My cruise is thirty days, and don’t tell your mother, but I’m not alone. Remember Mr. Theo?

  Chante stopped reading and smiled. Oh, she remembered Theodore Tanner, the former R&B singer who had been good friends with her grandmother for years. She always wondered if there was more between them. But she didn’t want to think about her grandmother, at her age, doing that!

  She continued reading.

  Theo and I are together. And that man is singing like it’s 1954. I love it, and I love him. When we get back, we’re probably going to be married. Don’t give me that look. LOL. It cost me a lot to FedEx this letter from the ocean. Right now, you might not be feeling the love, but, baby girl, when the right man comes along—no matter what age—you will know it and be happy. That’s what I want for you. I’m not trying to be like my daughter, telling you that your life is nothing without a husband. You are smart, beautiful, and damned good at your job. What you need to do is quit that law firm and start your own. If you need help, you know I’m in your corner. I’ve always believed in you, and you need to believe in yourself. You don’t need anyone’s approval, you’re an amazing woman. How can you not be? You’re my granddaughter. And working for other people is overrated, especially when you know more than they do.

  I’ve made a reservation for you at Sheldon Richardson’s hotel on Folly Beach. You’re going to be fine. Relax and have fun. And by fun, I mean a lot of drinks and maybe a flirtation with a stranger for a week or so. I know, that doesn’t seem proper, but think of it this way—your mother would have a heart attack if she knew this was the advice I was sharing with you. I love you, Chante. And this too shall pass, my dear.

  Chante couldn’t help but smile as she read her grandmother’s note. She always knew how to lift her spirits. She remembered coming to her grandmother’s house when she and her mother had had one of their many disagreements, and Elsie Mae would smooth everything over with banana bread and cinnamon tea.

  Chante started her car and headed for the hotel. She was glad she could hide out in Charleston because her phone had still been blowing up with calls from the Charlotte media before she turned it off.

  Of course, she told Liza that she’d be out of pocket for a week or so and that if her friend needed to get in touch with her she should send her an e-mail. She was sure that Liza wouldn’t need her; if anything, she’d need Liza to give her another statement or advice on handling the media. But she didn’t want to bother her friend with her issues. This was the first year of Jackson’s term, and he was busy. That meant Liza was busy as well.

  The couple were splitting their time between Raleigh and Charlotte while the General Assembly was in session, and the last thing Chante wanted was to be a bother to her friend. Liza had weathered a storm of rumors and lies, thanks to Robert, and Chante wasn’t going to drag her into it again.

  Robert. Just the thought of that bastard made her want to commit a crime of passion. Well, not really passion in the traditional sense of the word, but more in the legal sense. He had turned her life upside-down again with another lie. She wouldn’t support him running from a dog, so forget running for mayor. And take him back? Please. Even if it was just for show, there was no way in hell she’d go along with that. She wouldn’t take him to a trash can. And for him to think she’d help him hoodwink the people of Charlotte again. He was a damned fool! That would be stupid. And Chante Britt was not stupid.

  She arrived at the hotel and sighed. It hadn’t been what she planned, but Sheldon Richardson’s Charleston Harbor Bed and Breakfast would be a great place to rest and relax. Maybe she would take her grandmother’s advice and have some fun, but she wasn’t sure about that flirting with a stranger part. As soon as she pulled underneath the entrance canopy, a valet and a bellhop appeared.

  “Greetings, ma’am,” the valet said. “May I park your car?”

  “Thank you,” she said as she handed him the keys.

  “Do you have bags?” the bellhop asked.

  “Yes,” she replied, “they’re in the t
runk.” The valet popped the trunk, and the bellhop placed Chante’s luggage on a rolling cart and waited for her to enter the lobby.

  “Good evening, and welcome to the Charleston Harbor Bed and Breakfast,” the front desk clerk said with a huge smile on her face. “Do you have a reservation?”

  “Yes, it’s under either Chante Britt or Elsie Mae Cooper.”

  The woman typed some information and then looked up at Chante. “Yes, Miss Britt, I have a suite for you.” She handed Chante a key card with the number to her suite on the front of it. “If you would take the guest elevators behind you, your suite will be the second door on the right.”

  “Thank you,” she said, then walked over to the elevator with the bellhop in tow. As the doors opened, a tall brown-skinned man nearly bowled them over as he stepped off.

  “Jerk,” Chante muttered as she and the bellhop got stepped into the elevator car.

  “Everybody is in a hurry,” the bellhop said.

  “Not me,” Chante said. “I’m just going to relax and take it slow.”

  “Sounds like a good plan. So you’re on vacation in the Palmetto City?”

  Chante smiled and nodded. Damn, it felt good to be unnoticed and unknown. When she left Charlotte, a crew from a local news station had followed her until she crossed the state line at Rock Hill. She couldn’t help but wonder if the media were still camped out at her house. She almost felt sorry for the reporters who had been assigned to wait her out and get a statement. Hopefully they were getting paid by the hour.

  “Well, I hope you enjoy your stay,” he said as they arrived at her suite, breaking into her thoughts of Charlotte. Chante opened the door, and the bellhop took her luggage in. While he set her bags in the walk-in closet, Chante took the time to look around the suite. It was beautiful. Lush beige carpets, and a tan and beige comforter spread across the queen-size bed. Had she been in the room alone, she might have jumped on the bed.