Dino walked beside her. He leaned in to grab the handle of the glass door and pulled it open. With his other hand, he touched her elbow indicating it was fine for her to walk inside. Talaya moved and he followed directly behind her.
Dressed in a navy-blue pantsuit and blue and white pinstriped shirt, her black Prada pumps clicked over the marble floor. She carried her coffee cup in one hand, her navy Dior book tote in the other as she nodded and gave a small smile to the two security guards stationed at the glass reception desk. Dino gave them a nod as well and one of the guards turned away to speak quietly into his earpiece. No doubt, informing the guards on the fifth floor where her office was, that she was on her way up.
It was odd, this new place she found herself in as she stepped onto the elevator. Not just the physical location on High Street in one of the more high-end neighborhoods in Kensington. To be fair, Kensington was considered one of London’s most affluent areas so she wasn’t at all shocked it was also where Ridge would want this headquarters to be. Still, every day for the last three months that she’d walked into this building with security by her side and everywhere in the building, she’d wanted to pinch herself to make sure she wasn’t dreaming. Yes, she’d worked hard to obtain her bachelor’s and master’s degrees in social work and to that end, she’d worked even harder at each job she’d held since then, but this job as director of the foundation Ridge created to carry on his mum’s legacy was a bigger endeavor than she’d ever considered she would take on.
The foundation’s main purpose was to provide a global response to the health and well-being of Black children through health education, empowerment and advocacy which was directly in line with what her goals had been as a social worker, but this was on a larger scale. Ridge was convinced she could handle this position and hadn’t entertained any portion of the two-day long argument she’d presented to him when he first told her of his decision. He’d simply let her talk, something he did often, while knowing he’d still do exactly as he planned. Which was also something that happened more often than not.
In addition to the job itself, she couldn’t ignore the way she was dressed, the way the pieces from her new wardrobe made her feel. Confidence—which hadn’t come easily to her during her young adult years—was at a hundred percent each time she slipped into one of the designer suits she now owned for work, and the shoes. Well, she’d always had a shoe fetish even if she’d never been able to afford one before. But here she was, currently sporting a slick ass pair of one-thousand-dollar pumps and carrying a bag with a price tag that was three times that amount. It would be surreal, if not for the fact that every night when she lay in bed, the living and breathing fine ass man she’d confessed her love to, promised her the world and she believed that he’d do any and everything in his power to keep that promise.
It still amazed her how dedicated Ridge was to protecting and taking care of her. She’d been on her own for so long, thought herself in this world alone for too many years for her to ever consider being in this position before. But if she had learned anything in her thirty-five years of living, it was how quickly and sometimes drastically things could change.
So here she was, stepping off the elevator that would lead her down a long hallway to her corner office with its floor-to-ceiling windows, desk, chair and other expensive office furniture that Suri and Willow had helped her to select. There was a guard at the front desk on this floor too, as well as Olivia, Talaya’s executive assistant.
“Good morning,” Talaya spoke and waved a hand at the pretty young woman with a caramel complexion and sassy pixie haircut.
Olivia had been one of twelve women and two men that Talaya had interviewed for the job. But it was Olivia’s vibrant personality and tenacious attitude that had reminded Talaya of the girl she’d once been, that had landed Olivia the job.
“Mornin. You look pretty and well-rested today,” Olivia said with a brighter than usual smile.
Talaya smirked but still shook her head. “Stop it. I’ve had my coffee and that’s the only thing responsible for this look,” she replied holding the cup up for Olivia to see.
But Olivia wasn’t fooled. “Sure, it is,” she said with a knowing nod and then returned her attention to one of two big monitors on her desk.
So, it wasn’t totally true that the large decaf, extra caramel cream and extra sugar, had her smiling a bit more easily this morning. Of course, it was the massage and thorough loving that Ridge had put on her in the early morning hours, and the way he’d held her close to him for the remaining time they’d slept until her alarm had woken them again. Honestly, it was everything about that man and the life he’d made for her in the relatively short time they’d known each other. Ten months, that’s all it had been since just about every part of her world had changed.
And while she wasn’t complaining about those changes, it was honestly taking a lot of effort for her to adjust to them. There were some—Ridge, the new path of her career, the new friend she’d found in Suri, the bomb ass designer wardrobe Ridge’s credit cards had afforded her, and so many more things—that she could definitely roll with, had been ecstatic about to a certain extent. Then, there were other aspects that she wasn’t quite sure how to handle. Mostly because she still wasn’t sure how Talaya Brennan and all that was in her past would blend with the soon-to-be Talaya Donovan and all that surname encompassed.
As she walked into her office and set her cup on her desk, she turned that hand and stared down at the three-carat radiant cut, three-stone engagement ring on her finger. It was just as sparkly and beautiful as it had been that chilly night in January when Ridge had given it to her.
“I don’t know how or why this happened to us so quickly,” he’d said as he knelt on one knee. The chill from the air was visible in the vapor that slipped from his lips as they stood on the rooftop of The Legacy, his cousin Linc’s casino in Paris. They’d had dinner with Linc and his wife, Jade, at one of the restaurants on the first floor of the casino and afterwards, Linc had suggested they check out the new event area Jade had insisted they needed to bring more guests to the venue.
“I only know that I don’t want it to end,” Ridge had continued as he used one hand to pull the ring from the front pocket of his slacks. “I don’t want to move on without you.”
She’d gasped as a glint of light from the LED bars along the base of the glass wall that outlined the perimeter of the space caught the magnificent diamonds in a glittering spectacle. “I don’t…I…what is this?” she’d finally asked after searching for the words but still feeling like she hadn’t come up with the right ones.
His lips had spread into a wide grin, and he shook his head. He’d worn his locs down the way she preferred them, and they draped over his shoulders as he continued to stare up at her. “Then I must really be messing this up,” he joked.
“Oh no, no.” She insisted. “I mean, it’s not your fault.” She shook her head and wondered if she should pull her hand away from his. If she should turn and walk away until her head stopped spinning and her heart ceased the stampede it started in her chest. “I just wasn’t expecting this. I mean, we’ve only known each other a couple of months and before that I never even imagined myself married.”
“I never imagined losing my heart so quickly and absolutely to one woman before,” he’d said. “But here we are.”
Tears sprung in her eyes, and she’d given him a wavering smile. “Yeah. Here we are.”
She could’ve died during those two months that she’d known him. Jessie had intended to kill her since he couldn’t convert her and if Ridge’s team hadn’t intervened with that group of psychopaths that had targeted her, they would still be going strong, still trying to recruit her into that ridiculous cult they’d built in honor of her father. And Ridge’s cousin, Trent, had been shot during that time, so he could’ve died too. Which meant that she and Ridge were both in a place of reflection, of uncertainty and possibly of desperation. Still, within that place they’d found each other, and they’d found love. So, she’d accepted his proposal, moved into his house and slipped into a life she’d never imagined for herself.
“It’s all good in here,” Dino’s deep voice pulled her from her thoughts, and she looked up at him.
He stood closer to the door now, but she knew he’d gone into her private bathroom and checked the closet on the other side of the office to make sure there was nobody lurking there. It was their daily routine, one that reinforced the memory of the life from which he’d come.
“Your schedule says one Zoom meeting later this morning with Fenton PR and an afternoon meeting with Suri,” he told her what she already knew. But the schedule rundown was another thing they did each morning, almost as if Dino—or Delonte Jackson, which she’d learned was his real name—the six-foot-five-inch Afro-Caribbean guard Ridge had assigned to her the second time he’d met her, was her personal assistant instead.
“Yup,” she replied with a nod and eased down into her chair. She pulled out the desk drawer to her left and placed her bag inside. Before closing the drawer, she reached into her bag and retrieved her phone and set it on the desk. “Not too many meetings today, just as I like it.”
“I know,” he said. “I’ll be right outside. Call me when you’re ready to leave for lunch.”
She scrunched her face at that. “It looks like it’s going to rain,” she said peering around him to the windows on the other side of her office. The sky was indeed a very pale gray, which meant it hadn’t yet decided whether to let the sun in or welcome a downpour. “Might just order something in today.”
“Oxtails from Jerky’s?” he asked with a wiggle of his thick eyebrows. “I can get my dude, Freethrow, to deliver.”
She couldn’t help but grin because Dino was forever trying to feed her Caribbean food. Not that she minded, she did like it, but it was comical the way he thought he was convincing her all the time. “Now you know I don’t mess with those oxtails. I’ll get the jerk chicken with rice and peas like I always do.”
“Don’t know what you’re missin’,” he said rubbing his hands together before he walked out and closed the door behind him.
An hour and a half passed before Talaya was able to look away from her computer. Her inbox had been full of emails from venue and caterer proposals to sponsor responses and weekly reports from each department at the foundation. Since it was still early in its inception, she’d wanted to know how everyone was implementing the foundation’s overall plan into actionable objectives. While, in the long run she had no plans to become a micro-manager, she did take her job as director very seriously and needed to be assured that this foundation was off to a great start.
The inaugural fundraising gala would go a long way to sealing that deal which was why she was focusing the bulk of her time and attention in that direction. She’d narrowed it down to three venues in London. Dynasty Manor, the Donovan family’s B&B and private clubhouse in the Cotswolds was a last resort selection if time constraints didn’t work in their favor. Ridge had told her how much his mother loved her gardens at the manor, but that her heart had always been in the city where she’d raised her family. So, she was attempting to balance family emotions with family legacy, two things she was familiar with but from a totally opposite perspective.
Moving her fingers over the keyboard, she’d just pulled up the manor’s website to glance at the floorplan of its main event space once more when her desk phone rang. Olivia normally screened all her calls, only buzzing into Talaya’s office when it was a call she needed to take personally. This ringing wasn’t the same as Olivia calling her, yet it was coming through on her specific office line, not one of the other two lines that were available on her phone. Maybe Olivia was away from her desk.
With that thought in mind, Talaya blindly reached for the phone while keeping her gaze focused on the lush gardens that flanked a sprawling terrace with an amazing view of the land around the Donovan estate. It would possibly make a phenomenal backdrop to the fundraiser and set the stage for what was to come from this prestigious foundation.
“Good morning, Future Foundation,” she spoke into the receiver after putting it to her ear.
“Well, listen to you, sounding all important and shit.”
Talaya’s frown was instant, her gaze sliding from the computer screen to the receiver as if she could see through it to the person on the other end. “Excuse me?” she asked because surely this person had the wrong number.
“You don’t need excusing,” the husky voice responded. Talaya wasn’t sure if it was a he or a she, but they had a British accent just like Ridge, his family and just about everybody else she knew in London. “You need to be taught a lesson.”
And after that statement, the person hung up.
Talaya’s frown deepened as this time she pulled the receiver from her ear and continued staring at it. What the hell?
With a shake of her head, she decided it was definitely the wrong number and returned the receiver to its base. Then, she was just about to focus her attention back on her work when a notification box popped up in the lower right corner of her screen. A reminder that she had a Zoom call in ten minutes.
“Great,” she muttered and then pushed back from her desk. She opened the drawer to reach into her bag and pulled out her cosmetic pouch before standing and going into her bathroom.
The call was with Neshawn Fenton, owner and chief public relations officer at Fenton PR. She was an astute Black woman, with a flawless umber complexion and icy gray eyes. She’d also grown up with Ridge and his siblings as her parents were close friends with theirs. Talaya wasn’t jealous because after the first time she and Neshawn had met, Ridge had assured her that there’d never been anything beyond a cousin-like relationship between them. Still, Talaya couldn’t help but feel slightly intimidated by the woman. Mainly because she was something Talaya struggled all too often with feeling—self-assured and successful.
Sure, Talaya put on a good show, appearing like she had her shit together and was unbothered by anything that didn’t directly affect her or the people she cared about. But that was just a show. It had always been. It was one of the things her father had taught her well.
Moments later, she was back at her desk waiting for Neshawn to let her into the meeting room. She’d refreshed her lipstick, made sure there was nothing in the cracks of her eyes, fluffed her hair because she’d mistakenly decided to wear it straight this morning and prayed for the strength to get through this meeting.
“Hello, Talaya,” Neshawn said when her face appeared on the screen.
Flawless. As always.
Talaya mustered a smile around those thoughts. “Hi, Neshawn. How’re you this morning?”
She reached for the notepad and pen, pulling them both closer to the keyboard so she’d have them ready for when the meeting began.
“Tired and in desperate need of a vacation,” Neshawn responded.
“I can definitely relate to that,” Talaya said. The Donovans were planning another trip to Sasonique for the holidays, and she could hardly wait to enjoy the island this time without having a concussion or witnessing a shooting.
“Well, you look amazing so I can’t tell you’re burnt out,” Neshawn continued. “Me, on the other hand. You have no idea how much concealer I caked on this morning to hide the bags under my eyes.”
No, Talaya had no idea because the woman still looked gorgeous, especially in that yellow dress she was wearing. Her skin practically glowed and Talaya figured that was most likely natural, unlike her sex-assisted glow that Olivia had commented on earlier this morning.
She waved a hand and shook her head. “Girl, please. You’re the one looking like a fashion model in that outfit.”
It was the truth and Talaya loved the fact that she could both feel slightly intimidated by the woman and yet, still comfortable enough to compliment this woman. She chalked it up to that uncanny ability she had to be something she wasn’t. In other words, to fake it ‘til she made it.
But hadn’t she made it now? Wasn’t she exactly where she’d always wanted to be? Even if it wasn’t in the career she’d started working toward as a teen. So, what she wasn’t the next Brennan to become a senator, like her father and his father before him. And she wasn’t a renowned pediatrician like her mother. She was still a success, right?
“Hey? Where’d you go just now?”
She shook her head again at the slight rise in Neshawn’s voice. Then she blinked and let the thoughts that had jumped into her mind dissipate before she cleared her throat. “Oh. Sorry. Just thinking about this gala.”
She lied.
Neshawn nodded. “That’s part of what this call is about.”
Talaya watched as Neshawn reached for something out of the camera’s scope and pulled back with a blue folder that she opened and placed right beside her keyboard. Figuring the business portion of this call was about to begin, Talaya picked up her pen and sat up a little straighter in her chair, ready to do business.
“We’ve gotten some really good coverage in the last months. Pictures of you and Ridge at several high-profile events ranked high on our social media analytics. There are a couple more things coming up before the date you have scheduled for the gala which works well since we’re ready to kick things into high gear. I want the two of you highly visible and obviously in love for the upcoming weeks. Which, by the way you were smiling when we first got on this call, shouldn’t be a problem.”
Damn, was she really sporting some extra good dick residue happiness today?
“Um, thanks, I think,” she replied and then chuckled. “But honestly, I’ll be glad when this diversion campaign is over.”
Neshawn shook her head. “It won’t be anytime soon. In fact, as long as those lawsuits are still buzzing around Donovan Oilwell, Roark wants all the positive they can get in the media. That’s the only reason he allowed us to capture those few pictures from Tamika’s baby shower.”
Tamika was Roark’s wife and she’d given birth to their son, Rayder—whom they’d given Tamika’s maiden name—just about six weeks ago. Talaya had attended the baby shower, which was solely for family, with the exception of Team Donovan—all the security that now guarded the members of the family—and Neshawn who’d been allowed to take exactly three pictures. Roark and Tamika had to first approve the pictures before Neshawn could post them to the Donovan Oilwell social media pages. Roark had insisted that only Neshawn make the posts, instead of the social media manager Neshawn’s company employed. No pictures of baby Rayder had gone public, and Roark was adamant they never would. Talaya figured Neshawn had wisely kept quiet about that declaration.
“I thought Ridge said they were working on wrapping up the settlement for the last family’s case.” Just before she’d met Ridge last year, there’d been an explosion on one of the platforms of their drilling rig. As a result, the injured employees and their families had sued the company. One family in particular, Matthew and LaDonna Ross, had taken up a special place in Talaya’s heart during that ordeal. She glanced over at the white board she used to map her assignments and saw the name she’d printed there so many months ago—Morgan LaDonna Ross, named after her mother who died a couple of weeks after the explosion.
Matthew had sued Donovan Oilwell for his injuries as well as the wrongful death of his wife, citing that the explosion had contributed to his pregnant wife’s stress which ultimately led to the stroke she suffered immediately following her premature labor. The settlement had taken months to work out and when they’d thought it was finally done, Matthew’s mother-in-law had filed a wrongful death lawsuit of her own. That’s the one they were just getting finished.
“I didn’t get that memo, but I’m sure you’re correct. At any rate, I’ve got a job to do and that’s to paint the Donovan family in the best possible light I can manage. And what better light than of new love, engagements and babies. You wouldn’t happen to be pregnant, would you? That would be like icing on this fabulous cake I’m building!”
Talaya blinked and then frowned. “What? No!”
It occurred to her just seconds after she responded that her tone might’ve been a bit strong, so she cleared her throat and continued, “Please don’t freak me out like that. I am definitely not pregnant.”
Neshawn held up both hands in surrender. “Sorry,” she said and then chuckled. “I mean, that would be great content. Ridge, the playboy, not only finding the love of his life and putting a humungous rock on her finger, but now becoming a father—for real, for real, and not some bogus claim made by some trick.”
Because that scenario hit way too close for comfort, Talaya didn’t bother to respond. And for the next few minutes as the conversation went on, she tried to focus on taking notes and not the desolate feeling that had risen like bile in the back of her throat at Neshawn’s comments.
She definitely wasn’t pregnant and thanks to her father, never would be.
It was her cell phone buzzing as it vibrated on her desk this time that snatched her attention away from wayward thoughts. Probably Ridge checking on her. She hadn’t spoken to him since he’d kissed her before leaving the house this morning and they both made sure to do check-in texts or phone calls throughout the day. Another product of all the turmoil they’d gone through months ago and maybe a little because they missed each other when they were apart. She knew she missed the hell out of Ridge when he wasn’t near enough for her to reach out and touch. She prayed it wasn’t too much to hope he felt the same about her.
She must’ve frowned when she picked up her phone and read the text message that had come through because Neshawn was now saying, “Hey, Talaya, you okay?”
No, dammit, she wasn’t okay. She was never going to be okay, and this text message was confirmation of that fact.
Death becomes you.