An arrangement of love, p.1
An Arrangement of Love, page 1
An Arrangement of Love by Kenya Wright © 2023
All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means such as electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise without the prior written permission of the authors of this book.
This is a work of fiction. Any characters, names, places, brands, media and incidents are used solely in a fictitious nature based on the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to or mention of persons, places, organizations or other incidents is coincidental.
Printed in the United States of America
First Printing, 2023
Table of Contents
Copyright Page
an arrangement of love
Chapter 1 | The Interview
Chapter 2 | Homecoming
Chapter 3 | Gold Penis
Chapter 4 | Memories
Chapter 5 | First Day of Work
Chapter 6 | New Plans
Chapter 7 | Not Giving Up
Chapter 8 | The Arrangement
Chapter 9 | Drunken Lyrics
Chapter 10 | Hung Over
Chapter 11 | Run
Chapter 12 | The Flight
Chapter 13 | The Sisterhood of Stupidity
Chapter 14 | The Rules
Chapter 15 | Drunk on Lust
Chapter 16 | Not for Me
Chapter 17 | Savior
Chapter 18
Chapter 19 | Tomorrow
Chapter 20 | Highly Upset
Chapter 21 | Surprise
Chapter 22 | New Reality
Chapter 23 | Girls’ Night Out
Chapter 24 | Limits
Chapter 25 | Make Believe Lover
Chapter 26 | Pocket Change
Chapter 27 | Bastard
Chapter 28 | Friends to Lovers?
Chapter 29 | Unsure
Chapter 30 | Discoveries
Chapter 31 | Escape
Chapter 32 | Father Time
Chapter 33 | Jasmine’s Hell
Chapter 34 | Closure?
Epilogue | Murderous Rage
And I want to give a SPECIAL THANKS to my Diamond Divas:
L. Nichols
N. Chatman
T. Cleaver
S. Cohen
C. Carbon
A. Burgett
A. Hush
T. Paten
"We loved
with a love
that was more
than love."
— Edgar Allen Poe
Chapter 1
The Interview
“How many sexual partners have you had in your life?” Mr. Stone browsed my college transcript and then flipped to my resume. “That’s including oral and anal.”
I opened my mouth, but no words came out.
Did I hear him correctly?
I’d been prepared to answer several questions for this job interview: What are your strengths and/or weaknesses? Are you okay with the straining time commitment of an executive assistant? Will you be comfortable being the only black person in an all-white corporation?
Time to brush up on sexual harassment laws for private companies. And do I really want a job where the boss wonders about my sex life? Dang it. But, do I have other options?
Mr. Stone tossed my resume on the table and picked up a folder with my name on it. “Did you understand the question?”
“Yes.”
“How many men have entered you?” He opened the folder, turned a page, and then targeted me with green eyes that boasted amber hues around the irises. No blemishes, wrinkles, or splotches decorated his tan skin. Midnight-black waves framed his face. Interrupting my ogling, he said, “Do I need to draw diagrams or bring out visual aids, Ms. Montgomery?”
He’s gorgeous, but he’s an asshat.
“No.” I twisted my lucky copper ring on my pinky finger. “I’ve had two partners.”
“Only two?”
The redheaded woman next to him covered her mouth and snickered. The other panel members wore neutral masks on their faces—from the old graying men in designer suits to the stunning women coated in make-up and expensive perfume. Each person was the head of a multi-million dollar company Stone owned. All of them had been his or his father’s executive assistants. If I got the job, my future would be laid out with sparkling platinum bricks and a servant to guide me through my career, bearing wine and pricey caviar.
Just get through the interview, Jasmine. No rash decisions. No cursing him out and stomping out of the office. At least see where this goes.
“Yes.” I twirled the ring. “I’ve only had two partners.”
“Any female partners?” He curled his lips at the edges. His cheeks quivered a little, as if he were holding in laughter.
Oh, you’re enjoying this, aren’t you?
I kept a straight face. “No women.”
Stone set the folder on his desk and knitted his fingers together. His hands screamed manicured—nails filed even, a gloss of clear polish, and no bordering cuticles or abrasions.
Those are billionaire hands. I’ll bet he has a servant who wipes his behind after he goes to the bathroom.
He trapped me in his gaze. “Are you with the second partner?”
“I’m single.” I tapped my right foot. A bead of sweat trickled down the side of my face. I didn’t wipe it away, in fear that I would reveal my shaking fingers.
“What happened with your last boyfriend?” Stone glanced at my shoes.
I hid the shoe with the scuffed tip behind my other leg. “I caught him cheating on me with my best friend.”
“Besides breaking up with him, what did you do when you found out?”
“Nothing.”
He leaned back in his chair. “Are you still friends with both the ex and best friend?”
“Yes.”
“Have they married?”
“Yes.” I stopped playing with my ring and shifted to twisting my index finger.
“Did you go to the wedding?”
“I was one of their bridesmaids.”
The redhead scribbled notes on her paper.
Other panel members exchanged glances.
I’m so missing how this is related to the job?
Mr. Stone leaned his head to the side. “Why only two sexual partners?”
“Excuse me? What is the relevance of these—”
“You’re a pushover with no fashion sense, but you have a gorgeous face, nice body, and an interesting pair of eyes. Are they hazel?”
“Yes.”
“I gathered from your background check that you grew up in a rough neighborhood on the South End. It makes sense that you would’ve had sex with more than two men.”
Just go ahead and say it. “You have a stereotypical lower income background, drug addict black mother, unknown white father, most of your relatives are in prison or receiving government assistance. Why aren’t you pregnant with your fifth kid?”
An exasperated breath escaped my lips.
Relax. This is just a weird test. Worst case scenario is I don’t get the job. Suck it up.
I cleared my throat. “I only had the opportunity to sleep with two guys.”
“I don’t believe that.” He tapped the edge of his desk with his thumb. I’d noticed he did that a lot.
Is he nervous too? Doubt it.
Again, he tapped. “Come on. You’ve done a lot to get to this final phase. Don’t bore me with half-thought-out answers.”
I had done a lot.
The hiring process incited exhaustion and manic hysteria. Stone required a recommendation from his employees to even be considered as an applicant. My friend’s father, Benny Nix, was on the company’s corporate legal staff and had been my sponsor. Once I met that requirement, I underwent a knowledge examination, lie detector test, two sessions with a psychologist, and a medical physical that included a pap smear as well as drug and STD tests.
He repeated the question. “Why only two lovers?”
“I have five older brothers.” Who enjoy shooting people and think the county jail is their second home. “No one wanted to deal with them. I remained a virgin until college, where I met my two ex-boyfriends.”
“Abortions?”
I flinched as if he’d slapped me. “I’ve had one abortion.”
“Why?”
“I’d just discovered my boyfriend cheated on me. I had no money. I was at Harvard on an academic scholarship—”
Mr. Stone raised his hand to stop me.
I exhaled, but the guilt rose inside my core. I’d taken a life, due to inconvenience and my own stupidity from not taking my pills. The choice haunted me each time I thought about it.
God, will this interview ever end?
He snapped his fingers. “Are you with us?”
“Yes.” My voice screeched a little.
“What’s going on with your hair?”
Black kinky curls teased my shoulders. “I wear my hair natural. I don’t believe in damaging hair with unnecessary chemicals.”
He turned to the redhead. “What’s the African American actress’s name who just won an Emmy?”
“Sally Nayson.” She pulled out a thin silver phone. “Do you want me to make Ms. Montgomery a hair appointment?”
Excuse me?
“Yes. Make sure it’s one of my mother’s salons,” he said. “Have them do whatever that actress has done to her hair and have the m fit Jasmine in for tonight.”
“Okay, Chase.” She stood up, typed on her phone’s screen, and marched away.
“Umm . . . the actress has a perm,” I muttered. “Perms are chemical hair products.”
Mr. Stone ignored me. “Congratulations. You’ve got the job.”
All the panel members rose from their chairs and left one by one. My stomach coiled with exhilaration and uncertainty.
Hair appointment? Tonight?
I cleared my throat. “Thank you, Mr. Stone.”
“Call me Chase.”
“Thank you, Chase.” I formed my fingers into little fists and dug my nails into my palms. “I’m really happy to accept the job, but I’m wondering about the hair—”
“The woman who’s making your hair appointment is Lucy. She’ll also take you shopping tonight and will be training you for the next three months.” He rose and towered over me. “You’ll only deal with her or me. Don’t interact with other employees in the building. We’ve had some fatal outcomes with my past assistants. I don’t want those types of endings to be your fate.”
“What happened?”
The muscles in his jaw twitched. “Lucy will explain.”
Suspicious. I’ll ask her about it when I tell her I’m not perming my hair!
“You’ll receive a low salary during your training.” He unbuttoned his jacket, took it off, and slung it over the back of his chair. “Around $185, 000 for the first year.”
I choked on my saliva and coughed several times into my hands.
Fine. Maybe. . .I’ll perm my hair.
“After three months, I’ll decide if you remain my assistant or not.” He walked around his desk with fluid movements that emitted pure confidence.
I rose and he halted three feet in front of me.
A spicy cologne drifted from him and reminded me of the scent of new leather mixed with vanilla.
Goodness.
Chase was as tall as my brothers, and they were all over six feet. He extended his hand, wrapped satin fingers around mine, and encased my skin in heat.
“Spend time with your family and friends this weekend.” He tightened his grip. The added pressure didn’t hurt, but I knew he had power in that hold. “When Monday morning arrives, you’re mine. There are no sick days or time off unless I say so. Other than that, you sleep and eat when I do. You’re issued an iPhone. You miss my call and you’re fired. I don’t care if it’s 3:00 a.m., your mother is in the hospital, and you’ve just been attacked. I am your god.”
What?
I gazed into his green eyes and waited for the punch line.
An unnerving quiet thickened the space.
He pulled me in closer until only two inches stood between us.
“Say it,” he said in a low voice.
Shock coursed through my veins.
“What do you want me to say?” I shifted my focus to his broad shoulders. Since he’d taken his jacket off, I could now see the muscles in his arms stretching his white shirt.
Rich, young, sexy, and flawless skin. Nobody’s that perfect. His penis must be an inch long.
He licked his lips. “Look at me.”
Swallowing, I followed his order.
Our eyes met. And there came a look from him that froze me in place, one that dizzied my brain and made me sway. It was like alcohol poisoning to the bloodstream, and I felt like a drunkard on his tenth shot, realizing it was too late for salvation and certain of keeling over to the ground.
What the hell am I getting myself into?
No hint of humor skittered across his expression. “Say, ‘I. Am. Your. God.’”
Any other time I would have laughed, but when it came to my financial situation, I held my mocking inside. Those four words, I am your god, guaranteed a six-figure salary—one I thought I wouldn’t reach until my fifteenth year of working.
Here it was, my first official job out of college, and my salary exceeded my expectations. The things I could do with that amount danced in my head—pay school loans, get a new car, help my mom raise my nieces and nephews, finally present my other roommate/best friend the rent money I’d never been able to give her since we’d moved into our place a year ago.
I centered all of my attention on Chase and displayed what I hoped to be a self-assured smile. “You are my god.”
Chapter 2
Homecoming
They’re all dead? That can’t be a coincidence.
I stumbled toward my apartment door.
My phone buzzed for the thirtieth time that night. My mom’s name flashed on the phone’s screen. I’d been too busy to answer it in the salon, clothing stores, or on the limo ride to my place where Lucy told me my duties.
My head boomed in pain from worry, exhaustion, and insecurity. When I asked Lucy about Chase’s prior assistants, she’d simply explained that the last three died—suicide with prescribed sleeping pills, accidentally electrocuted in a pool, and attacked leaving the office.
“We’re calling you lucky number four,” Lucy had admitted. “A lot of sick people are making bets on whether you’ll make it. Just ignore that.”
The hallway light blinked on and off. I dropped my shopping bags full of new work clothes. Samba music blasted from next door. For once, I wasn’t upset the neighbors were having a party.
Tonight I’m celebrating too!
My phone buzzed again. I checked the screen. Mom.
She probably needs money.
With my brothers in jail, most of their kids stayed with my mom. The kids’ mothers usually landed in jail for accessory to whatever crime my brothers committed. Therefore, Mom always needed money for medical bills, daycare, winter clothes, etc.
I’ll send her some money tomorrow.
A grin spread across my face. This was the first time I could give her money and not experience a stomach ulcer.
I tucked a huge binder under my left arm. Chase required so much from his assistant that Lucy was forced to compile a binder that listed my responsibilities, his likes/dislikes, and information on his fiancée, associates, and relatives.
I’m in over my head.
Conferences, business meetings, test runs, and negotiations crowded his calendar. He had no day off, not even Sundays. And with each expected appearance of Chase, I was supposed to be next to him, taking notes, assessing the quality of business deals, reminding him of an event’s significance, and carrying out his personal stuff—gifts for holidays/birthdays, booking travel arrangements, and anything else he thought of.
When do I sleep? I guess when you’re making six figures, you can sleep when you die.
That bizarre news flickered in my head again.
All three of his assistants are dead. Crazy.
Although the last assistant’s death had been two years ago, unease still nipped at my thoughts. If Mom discovered this, she would forbid me to work there. Now that she was three years clean of drugs, she spent her days devouring religion and preaching to anyone who would listen.
“This is a sign from God that you shouldn’t be working for those rich white people,” she would probably say. “Work on filling your soul, instead of your bank account.”
Meanwhile, you need me to send you money to fill your bank account.
I yanked my keys out of my favorite pocketbook. Sadly, Lucy told me I couldn’t bring the purse back to the office because it might disgust Chase. Two-inch pieces of coconut shells covered it. A multi-colored yarn cord served as the strap. I’d explained to Lucy my style represented an eclectic flair for odd things.
“Oh, that’s so cool,” Lucy had replied. “But definitely don’t return with the purse.”
Shoes, suits, and accessories filled my shopping bags. Lucy had dragged me around Merrick Square and towed me into stores with flashy titles and clerks who greeted us at the door with glasses of champagne and wide smiles on their faces.
For hours, I’d tried on clothes I would’ve never considered for myself—form-fitting pencil skirts, brightly colored blouses with ruffled collars and revealing cleavage lines, uncomfortable shoes that didn’t possess a heel; instead, the back of the shoes arched upward into torturous slants that mimicked four inch heels and forced me to focus on every step.
Each time a cashier reported the total, I’d cringed. The costs surpassed the value of my car. Yet, Lucy never flinched and just charged it to Stone Industries.
“Chase demands elegance,” Lucy had explained when we entered Fantino Spa. “I’ll walk you through your makeup. Take notes. Be aware of current trends. Fashion is important to him.”
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