“You’ll be paying for what ever expenses you and Derrick ran up in this hotel— so will Pops.”
Antwan Brown turned and looked at his sister, his gaze narrowed. “It always comes down to money . . . you always trying to hang that over everybody’s head. Okay, fine, so whatchu want, you spoiled little brat? Want me to send the ladies home and drive your ass to New York right this second for your awards show tonight— is that what all the drama is about? Damn, I swear you get on my last nerve, girl. It’s not even twelve o’clock yet. If we leave here by four, we can all get up the way by seven, change, head out to the—”
“I have to be there by seven!”
“Aw’ight, aw’ight, relax. Damn.”
“I want those hussies off my tab, so what ever you ordered for them, you are paying for,” Anita said as calmly as possible. “Wherever Derrick is, and wherever Pops is, you can tell them the same thing.”
“Aw’ight, fine! I’ll pay for the dinners and the bubbly, you done?”
“No,” Anita said, folding her arms over her chest. “I have hired a legitimate limousine and security firm to pick me up in the lobby today, as well as to take me to the awards tonight— since I knew I couldn’t count on you. The label will have security when I get there, as per normal, but I’ll hire a real bodyguard, since you’re too busy.”
“Yeah,” she said, pressing her point when her brother appeared momentarily speechless. “I’ve been up for hours taking care of things I should have handled years ago. I might even hire that SWAT International, the firm that’s sending the limo, to go overseas with me on my USO tour, because I’m changing my life, and there can be no screw ups there . . . it can’t be like the disaster that was the U.S. rap tour last year. My name is still in the tabloids from that and the drama you guys got into. Never again.”
“Oh, so now we can’t go on the plush trips with you because things got a little wild in Vegas and in the dirty south? It wasn’t my fault that things got crazy in L.A., and you know that was all Derrick.”
Incredulous, Antwan stalked back toward her to get in her face. “So now we gotta stay home because I had some chicks in the spare bedroom in your suite and you might be a little late for some stupid awards show? Is that it? All because I got a little tipsy and forgot which room was which and came in here— so? Why you got beef over silly shit all the time, ’Nita? That’s probably why your man left you almost a year ago and don’t no other man wanna deal with your high-maintenance ass. Look at you,” her brother shook his head, glowering at her. “Fine as hell . . . pretty hazel eyes, nice shape, thick long hair that ain’t a weave, men falling all over you and can’t keep a man— why? Because you’re picky as hell and drive every man who gets with you crazy! You’re mad because you ain’t getting none, so now—”
“That’s not fair,” she said quietly, outrage and hurt making her voice tight as she held up her hand to make him stop hurling insults.
“So you heard me bouncing a coupla babes and ain’t had nobody in your bed, now this morning you come busting in my room throwing vases. You need to get your head shrunk, go get some therapy or better yet, get you some d—”
“I would have definitely preferred that you took them into your suite, the one I had paid for, but this doesn’t have anything to do with that. I got angry when I saw the bills, okay. Then I got even angrier when I looked at my watch, saw what time it was, and heard you starting up in there again when I have to be at an awards show in New York tonight— don’t get it twisted. Then I called the other rooms, trying to get my so-called driver, trying to get my father, somebody to take me back home, and couldn’t raise a soul on the so-called payroll . . . even you, my supposed handler and security guy was more concerned about getting tail than making sure that I’m back home, rested, and on point for the gig I have to do tonight— a gig that helps pay all of these bills.”
“Aw’ight, my bad, so I lost track of time,” Antwan said with a shrug. “But you ain’t have to come busting in there going off. This is all about your ego, be honest . . . because we’ve still got time to get to NYC, if you put on your makeup and stuff in the limo— how long does it take to put on a dress and some heels?”
Anita looked up at her younger brother, wondering where the love had gone, where the responsibility had gone, knowing that her mother had to be turning over in her grave. “This has to do with you all getting your lives in order, not my ego,” she said more quietly.
“You ain’t our mother!” Antwan shouted and then walked away from her.
“No, I’m not,” she said quietly, moving toward the LV luggage that she had stacked by the door.
“So, what you trying to say?” Antwan stammered, once he’d realized that this time she meant business.
“I am saying that you all have homes that were outright purchased. You all have nice cars that are paid for and insured for the year. You all have credit cards, with no balances on them— except for what ever you ran up last night. You all have closets full of really nice designer clothes, and last I remember I had left you with several thousand dollars in the bank.”
“Okay, like I asked you before, whatchu trying to say?” Her brother lifted his chin and folded his arms over his chest.
Anita nodded toward the dining room table. “There’s an envelope over there for each of you . . . it has a check for two weeks’ severance pay and a formal termination of ser vices letter. You’ll be eligible for unemployment, as my accountant made sure that we paid all of the necessary payroll deductions and I will continue your medical and dental benefits for a year— which should be long enough for you each to find a real job.”
“Severance? What? Are you serious?” Antwan’s eyes held a dangerous combination of fear and outrage.
“Completely.” Not waiting for the bellman who was on his way, Anita hoisted up her gold Louis Vuitton bag on her shoulder and then picked up a matching suit bag that held her gown and shoes before she reached for the door. She had already hired another limo and while she waited in the vehicle, the hotel staff could bring down the larger pieces of luggage, but right now she needed air.
“You ain’t doing this to us, ’Nita!” her brother shouted behind her as she slipped out of the door. “Now I know why everybody calls you Queen Bitch!”
IF THERE WAS anybody he’d do this emergency job for while home on leave, it was his best buddy, Lowell. The call had come in early this morning according to Lowell, who’d been trying ever since he’d started his security escort business to land a contract with this particularly difficult VIP— and the lady finally made up her mind when every good man that Lowell had was otherwise engaged with previously booked corporate clients.
Regardless, how did one say no to a man who’d saved your life by losing his leg,
and then had to rebuild a military career by chauffeuring and protecting spoiled CEOs and stars? Men of Delta Force were meant for so much more than this and it tortured his soul that Lowell had to choose this as a way to feed his family. Still, it was honest work and he’d honor his friend’s call to arms.
Zachary kept his gaze sweeping the hotel lobby of the Trump Plaza. This wasn’t a hardship detail though; the worst part of the job was probably going to be putting up with a megastar attitude and wearing a suit, but he’d survived a whole lot worse. Time wasn’t a problem, although he’d probably keep this off his commanding officer’s radar so it wouldn’t be viewed as a conflict of interest. He wasn’t going to let Lowell pay him; that’s what Lowell didn’t know. Besides, if he didn’t get paid then what he did on his time off was his business, as long as it was legal. It wasn’t like he was working a second job or moonlighting while in uniform.
But, if anybody asked, he was off-duty for six weeks and had time to kill . . . and this was just an in and out. Go in, pick up the package— one spoiled diva, deliver her to New York, drive her to an awards show, and then return her home. From there, Lowell’s other men would be off their previously committed details and could cover her building. Simple. Clean. Just the way he liked it.
Just the way . . .