CHAPTER ONE

 

 

Chicago, Illinois- Seventeen years later

 

Driggers Morgan’s kind, handsome face possessed a look of fatherly concern as he studied the lovely young woman who sat behind the desk in her study. With her legs propped on the polished oak and her dark brown face partly hidden behind a thick hardback, she seemed relaxed enough. Driggers, however, knew the young woman very well. A smile pulled at the corners of his mouth.

“Whose heart have you broken this time?” he questioned casually.

Michaela Sellars smiled, easily recognizing the intense curiosity mingled within the nonchalant tone she was accustomed to hearing in Driggers’s voice. “No one’s,” she replied in a whimsical manner.

Driggers nodded at the singsong response and pushed his solid frame from the doorjamb. “You know I don’t believe that,” he said.

Mick pulled her amber gaze from the page she’d been reading and fixed the observant sixty-something man with a look of phony outrage.

Driggers tilted his head to one side as though trying to get a bead on what held her attention so reverently. “Just as I thought,” he announced finally, “the Cowans. You only read that story when you’re debating or trying to forget some young man,” he surmised.

Mick shrugged and set the book aside. “Well, I’ll have you know that I’m not trying to do either. I just happened to pick up the book, that’s all.”

“Mmm-hmm,” Driggers rebutted, then laughed when he picked up the book to inspect it more closely. “You must be preoccupied with something, so spill it,” he ordered politely while thumbing through the crisp pages.

Mick moved her legs from the desk and propped her feet on the seat of her chair. “There’s nothing to it, I promise,” she said, bracing her elbows on her knees and setting her chin in her palms. “I was looking for something else and I just happened across the book,” she explained further.

“I see,” Driggers sighed in obvious disbelief. “And I supposed the fact that you turned right to the section on Blue and Esther has no real significance?” he asked, referring to the patriarch and matriarch of the Cowan family.

Mick’s lashes fluttered and she wriggled her fingers about her lovely, round face. “Blue and Esther’s story is the most prophetic section of the book in my opinion.”

“Prophetic, huh?” Driggers perched his still-agile frame on the edge of the desk.

“What Esther gave up to be with Blue,” Mick pondered, resting her head back against the tall, lavender desk chair. “I could never choose a man over my family.”

“Hmph. Spoken like a woman who’s never been in love,” Driggers mused.

Mick took no offense. “Spoken like a woman who’s never had a family,” she countered softly, her sparkling stare turning solemn.

Driggers frowned then, not caring one bit for the look on her face. “You should never feel alone. You know that.”

Mick realized how her words may have sounded to the man she’d looked upon as a father for the better part of seven years. She’d known Driggers since hiring him as her houseman. Then, he’d seemed as desperate for some semblance to family as she’d always been. Over the years, they had crafted a relationship that Mick wouldn’t have traded for anything. Standing then, she rounded the desk and pulled Driggers into a hug. “I’ll never feel alone as long as I have you,” she whispered and pressed a kiss to his cheek.

~~~

 

Hard, driving rhythms from a vintage Miami Bass CD filled the air surrounding Michaela’s stately fifteen-acre back lawn. The perfectly manicured landscape was dotted with twenty-one women between the ages of eighteen and twenty-one, plus one thirty-two year old. The perfectly toned ladies moved in sync to the affecting music as they rehearsed another excruciating albeit dazzling routine.

Michaela, who carried the crown as the oldest dancer on the lawn, didn’t miss a step. She grooved with as much energy and sensuality as the girls who were at least ten years her junior. Of course, the fact that her skills were near perfect was no surprise. After all, she had choreographed the eye-catching routine, a routine that was at least fifteen grueling minutes in length. When it ended, everyone- with the exception of Michaela- fell to the ground in an exhausted state.

Mick stood in the center of the collapsed heap and clapped. “Outstanding, ladies!” she cheered while laughing at the girls’ agonizing responses. “Oh come on, congratulate yourselves for making it through another routine!” she urged, her laughter gaining volume when the girls complained in earnest.

It was all in fun. Michaela had taken to choreographing routines for the dancers of Wiley State’s marching band four years ago after being granted the opportunity to perform with the alumni band of her alma mater during one of its televised homecoming games. Since then, the twenty-member dance troupe had been criticized, raved over, drooled over for their exquisite racy numbers during the band’s halftime shows.

“All right people, you know the deal! I’ve got ten full baths, so you better hustle if you want to be in the first group to wash off that grime!” Mick’s laughter resurfaced as she watched the girls scramble to their feet in unison and race for the showers- literally.

Mick followed, strolling toward the brick patio while ruffling the riot of thick blue-black curls that framed her face like an onyx cloud. A slight frown wrinkled her brow as she focused in on a woman heading toward her. After a moment, Mick’s frown cleared and she broke into a grin while waving toward her publisher.

Contessa “County” Warren shook her head while approaching her best friend and associate. Her long lashes fluttered like hummingbird wings when she rolled her eyes and cast a tired glance across her shoulder. “Why you prefer to kill yourself bouncing around with these teenyboppers when you could have a workout in a stylish gym with mature women and mature conversation is beyond me,” she criticized.

Mick halted her steps and tapped one finger across her full lips. Her stirring amber gaze narrowed while the delightful mole at the corner of her mouth twitched when she smiled in concentration. “Hmm...a stylish gym, with mature women no less. Ones who can’t quite decide whether to get the liposuction or Botox injection next. Yeah, County, I sure do wish I could be in on such stimulating conversations.”

County waved off the sarcastic remarks as though they were annoying flies. “I still question this obsession of yours, Mick. Hell, you could’ve joined the dance troupe at Wiley when we were students. That’s what normal folks did,” she pointed out with a look of challenge appearing in her almond shaped deep brown eyes.

Mick nodded, conceding to the truth in the dig. “Need I remind you how improbable it was that I would’ve been chosen back then?”

“And need I remind you that you’ve always had that body?” County retorted, her eyes raking Michaela's figure for emphasis. “You only needed to learn how to work it, and the best way to learn that ain’t taught on the field.”

“Here we go,” Mick groaned, knowing they were about to embark upon Contessa’s favorite subject: sex.

“Of course,” County said, tilting back her head as she focused on something in the distance. “Well…I guess the field could’ve been used as a training ground. Goodness knows I-”

“County! Please spare me another story about your sex life. It’s too damn early in the morning.”

County burst into a bout of rich laughter. “Baby, it’s never too early for sex. You’d know that if you were getting any,” she taunted, speaking the last few words in Mick’s ear as she brushed past her.

Mick took the blow, then bowed her head and prayed for patience. “Are you here just to ridicule and harass me, Count? I mean, I know it’s one of the things that give you the greatest pleasure. How’d you get into my house anyway?” She ranted.

Pushing one hand into the back pocket of the flare-legged jeans that molded to the generous expanse of her derriere, County stood taking in the beautiful view of the grand lawn. “Driggers let me in. And yes, I do love to ridicule and harass you, but this morning I’m here to conduct real-life, actual business,” she announced, turning to pin Mick with a haughty glare.

“Bull,” Mick whispered, the sparkling quality of her gaze giving her eyes the look of some exotic tigress. Though Contessa Warren was a great success and handled her business in a diligent, almost reverent manner, the woman was not known for rising before 11:00AM- not for business anyway. “The only thing you wake up for at the crack of dawn is a quickie,” Mick pointed out bluntly.

County responded with a seductive smile and a naughty wink. “I don’t do quickies, love,” she informed her friend, giggling when Mick pretended to gag. “I’m here so early because this was too good to wait ‘til later.”

Mick folded her arms across the front of the figure-forming white bra top she wore. “So spill it,” she ordered.

“I took a chance and went after something. I figured I was wasting my time, but it paid off.”

Mick only shrugged.

County shook her head and began to rummage through the denim canvas bag she carried. She tugged her bottom lip between her teeth upon locating a magazine, which she thrust into Mick’s hands.

Mick frowned at the page County pointed to. She scanned what looked to be an advertisement. “The Ramsey Group?” She inquired, her frown deepening when County beamed. “Am I supposed to magically know what this is about?”

County grimaced and snatched the magazine from Mick’s hand. “I was in Sam’s office the other day and-”

“Sam?” Mick interjected, recognizing the name of County’s realtor. “You know, if he was a real friend, he’d be advising you to stop pouring so much money into these ventures.”

“Well, he’s not a friend, he’s a realtor and he’s about makin’ money,” County threw back before waving one hand in the air. “Look, that’s not what this is about. I happened across this advertisement while I was at Sam’s. This group not only sells homes-homes that start, but the way, in the low eight hundreds. Thousands, that is,” she clarified with two winks. “They also build homes and own the property. In fact, they own several upscale communities throughout Washington State, California and the Midwest.” County shrugged and perused the advertisement again. “I admit that I was at first interested in finding out about an investment. I mentioned it to Sam and we discussed the group. Let me tell you,” she said, fixing Michaela with a stern look, “by the end of that discussion, I’d forgotten about investing.”

Again, Mick shrugged.

County smiled. “The Ramseys are African American.”

Mick’s eyes trailed to the advertisement. “Never heard of ‘em,” she retorted though she was subtly intrigued.

County nodded and began to stroll back toward the house, grinning when Mick fell in step next to her. “They’re out of Seattle, Washington and they’ve become giants in the real estate business. Silent giants. Your cup of tea,” she slanted a glance toward Mick.

It was true, Michaela admitted silently. She had made a household name for herself following her debut release, which chronicled the rise, fall and re-creation of the Shelanon family of Medora, North Dakota. The Shelanons were relatively unknown in much of the country, as well as in the black community. Mick brought the phenomenal African American clan into the public eye. The family had staked a claim and made their fortune in a state most African Americans never believed they’d set foot in. The book was a smash, and following that, Michaela had obtained unimagined popularity. As a result, many families worth having their histories recorded wanted Mick to record it.

True, she had her share of well-known families who wanted to tell their stories. Michaela, however, was more interested in digging out the stories of those who didn’t make the who’s who lists regularly. She gravitated more toward those families who’d obtained real success while managing to remain out of the spotlight. These were the people Mick wanted to research, and they practically clamored for the opportunity to talk with her. Of course, this wasn’t surprising. Michaela Sellars was known for her ability to coax the choicest bits of information from her subjects. Her unsettling yet entrancing amber gaze drew people in to such an extent they recited their life’s history without ever realizing they were being interviewed.

Still, in spite of her curvaceous figure, flawless dark chocolate skin, captivating eyes, and the unruly halo of thick midnight curls, Mick had never considered herself a drop-dead beauty. She felt she was too short, too curvy. Her attributes oftentimes had her waiting too long for a man to tear his eyes away from her chest. She thought her nose was too small, as its size only emphasized the fullness of her mouth. Her completely sensual appearance encased a completely intellectual personality. When it came to her work, she attacked it in a doggish fashion. And she attacked her play in the same manner. She was a woman who enjoyed her success, due in no small part to her upbringing. She’d lived a rough life as a foster child, but managed to secure a good education and made the most of it. Michaela was the first to point out that she led a good life. She had every material possession a woman could wish for. She had everything except what she wanted most: a family of her own and all the love that accompanied it.

“So anyway, I sent a proposal to Ramsey Group’s administrative director and asked for the story,” County rambled on.

Mick’s face reflected stunned amazement, but she knew it would’ve been unreasonable to expect anything less from her best friend. Contessa Warren had earned her nickname, the Count, more for being take charge in business than because it was an apt shortening of her first name. County’s motto was: if they don’t know you, introduce yourself.

“I sent the proposal on Wednesday, got a response the following Tuesday,” she boasted, her rich brown gaze pride-filled. “I spoke with the admin director at the headquarters personally,” she added.

“Now I’m suspicious,” Mick muttered, hooking a thumb through one of the belt loops on the hip-hugging black shorts she sported. “How could a simple proposal generate such an interest?”

County gasped. “I do believe I’m offended,” she said pouting.

Mick rolled her eyes. “This is a powerful family, Count. They’ve remained out of the spotlight way too long to be taken in by a proposal from a Midwest publishing firm. No matter how impressive it is,” she added quickly for County’s benefit.

“You shouldn’t be so hard on yourself, Mick.”

“Huh?”

“You were the proposal.”

“What the hell are you talking about?” Mick demanded. Now both thumbs were hooked in the belt loops.

County shrugged. “I based the proposal only on you and your work.”

“You what?”

“Oh come on, Mick,” County snapped, fixing her friend with a weary glare. “The modesty is wearing thin right about now. Your reputation precedes you. Businesspeople love stories about other businesspeople. The rags-to-riches story will always be popular. You should toot your own horn a lot more, damn it. But if you won’t, then I guess I have to.”

Mick folded her arms across her chest and decided it would be pointless to argue. County had always been her biggest fan, ever since she’d read Mick’s first short story. County, a business major in college, always aspired to become an entrepreneur. Still, an actual business venture had eluded her. That all changed when she discovered Mick’s talents. She decided to become a publisher, and a fine one at that.

“Just accept the fact that my long shot paid off. The gods want to meet you.”

Mick scratched her head. “Uh, don’t you mean the gods are smiling on me?”

“Uh-uh,” County retorted, with a wave of her bejeweled right hand, “it was no slip of the tongue. Ramsey Group’s admin director is a woman. When I asked who from the family we’d be speaking with, she said we’d be speaking with the gods themselves. Of course, I was stunned, but she assured me it was no exaggeration. The brothers were aware of the name and didn’t mind hearing it used.”

“The brothers?” Mick asked.

County stopped just short of the patio. “Quest and Quaysar Ramsey run the whole shebang. Jasmine Hughes, the admin director, swears the whole family is filled with incredible looking men, but those two head the real estate company. They rarely meet with anyone outside the business. I guess they save all that for their executive staff.”

“And they’re called gods because of all this power they’ve acquired?” Mick asked, though she had a feeling she already knew the answer.

“They’re called gods because that’s what they look like. Two chocolate dipped sexy twins.”

Suddenly, Mick burst into a fit of laughter. “You are not tellin’ me this admin director was that candid with a total stranger regarding her employers?”

County shrugged. “From what she says, the vast majority of the employees would love to see a book done on their bosses. They believe the guys should be recognized for all they’ve done. Especially when most people believe Ramsey is run by white folks.”

“Mmm, and how do the twins feel about that?”

County gave a quick toss of her heavy ponytail. “From what I gather, they don’t mind it so long as they rake in the cash.”

Mick was still eyeing her publisher with unmasked suspicion. “I don’t know, County,

what-”

“Wait. Just wait a minute,” County urged, taking the first brick step up the patio. “Just save your questions for the meeting.”

“Meeting?”

“Mmm-hmm, day after tomorrow in Seattle. It’s all set.”

Mick tilted her head to one side. “You accepted a meeting without knowing if I’d go along or not?”

“Oh please, you can’t possibly pass up this chance,” County decided, rolling her eyes toward the blue sky above before bringing them back to Mick’s face. “Besides,” she sighed, leaning close. “Don’t you want to see what they look like?” She taunted, then turned and continued on toward the house.

~~~

 

That evening, Mick settled down with the file County left on the Ramseys. No pictures, she noted. Clearly, the entire family was camera shy- at least for the public. Of course, Mick could very well understand. Instead, the file was packed with several news articles and other material on the family. The Ramseys were the cream of the crop in Seattle, not only within the black community, but in Seattle as a whole. Mick studied the folder intently, never realizing how intrigued she was becoming. As she scowled at the clips, however, a frown began to mar her soft brow. Every article shed a favorable light on the clan. There was abundant coverage of charity events, school programs, hospital dedications, and other choice bits of information.

“Where’s the dirt?” Mick whispered, leafing through the clips, certain there had to be more.

She reached for the white cordless phone on her nightstand, prepared to dial County’s number. But she hesitated just as her fingers brushed the receiver. Maybe there wasn’t more, she considered. Perhaps County was right, she thought. Perhaps she was too cynical- too suspicious of people and their motives. Maybe her upbringing had jaded her. The possibility was something she’d always tried to deny, but as she grew older, especially lately, it had begun to nag at her more and more. Mick dismissed the notion with a quick shake of her head. Her grip tightened on the receiver and she proceeded to dial County’s number.

~~~

 

Seattle, Washington

 

Quaysar Ramsey’s long brows drew close as the easy expression he usually wore grew fierce with frustration. “Damn it, Q, the author is coming from halfway across the country.”

Quest Ramsey didn’t bother to make eye contact with his brother. “Do I need to tell you how little I care or can you sense it?” he inquired calmly, while casually thumbing through the report he studied.

“Don’t you even care a little that someone actually finds our family interesting enough that we merit a book?” Quaysar asked, bracing both hands against the round conference table with blatant challenge in his dark eyes.

Quest’s blank look spoke volumes to Quaysar, who muttered a curse and turned away.

“Well, what are gonna tell ‘em when they get here?” Quaysar asked, suddenly remembering the author would be there at ten o’clock the next morning.

Again, Quest was enthralled by the report he read. “We...we won’t tell ‘em a thing. You were the one who couldn’t wait to get them here, so you’ll be the one to tell them they came here for nothing.”

“You’re full of crap, you know that, right?” Quaysar raged, slipping both hands inside the deep pockets of his hunter-green trousers. “This could be good for us, you know that?”

Quest sighed, dropping the report to the table. Quaysar was still spouting arguments while his brother literally walked out on their conversation.

~~~

 

County mimicked the impatient tapping of one sandal-shod foot by tapping her fingers along the glossy finish of the cherry-wood front desk. “Will you stop nagging me about this?” she practically growled, flashing a stern glare to her right.

Mick, the recipient of that look, reacted with a stern glare of her own. “Hmm...I’m nagging you for information on a book that you want me to write? Do you see any logic in that, Count?”

County rolled her eyes to study the line of chandeliers gracing the hotel’s high ceiling. “Why do I even try with you?” she sighed while signing for the room keys.

Mick rolled her eyes and took a minute to study her surroundings as well. The hotel was to die for, elegantly yet comfortably furnished. The cherry-wood paneling of the lobby simply emphasized the rich color and craftsmanship of the butter-soft leather sofas and armchairs. The establishment shrieked of exquisite tastes and accommodations. Mick silently toyed with the notion of tacking on a few more days to her stay. She deserved to treat herself to a lengthier getaway in such a fabulous place.

“There,” County announced, accepting the room keys from the desk attendant. “Now,” she turned to drop the card in Mick’s palm. “What?” She groaned, when she saw the pointed look on the other woman’s face.

“The file.”

“Damn it, Mick,” County whispered, her lashes fluttering as she bowed her head, “I swear you are the most-”

“Hold it. Just stop a minute,” Mick urged, raising her hand for emphasis. “Now even you have to admit that no family is as syrupy sweet as that file made the Ramseys out to be. Hell, even the Shelanons had skeletons in their closets.”

“Boy, did they!” County acknowledged, tapping one long spiced-polished nail on her cheek as she recalled the family. “But in defense of that file, Mick, it was a promotional packet. I mean, you really didn’t expect them to place all their dirty little secrets in there all nice and neat, did you?”

Mick folded her arms across the yellow lace-neck T-shirt she sported. “Now who’s being sarcastic?”

County patted Mick’s cheek. “You’re growing on me.”

Still, Mick was determined to hear County admit that she wasn’t being suspicious or overly cynical. “Families like this always have something to hide,” she insisted as they took the elevator to their respective rooms.

“Well, that’s why you’re the journalist, girl. Dig, dig, dig,” County advised in a merry tone. “Besides, you’ll have plenty of time to grill your sources tomorrow and I won’t even be there to kick you under the table when you ask how many people they’ve murdered.”

Mick stood still before the elevator as the doors closed softly behind her. “What do you mean, you won’t be there?”

County was already unlocking her door. “They want to meet you alone.”

“Why?”

County shrugged, heading inside the room to check that her bags had been correctly delivered. “That photo I sent must have done the job,” she surmised absently.

“I don’t like it,” Mick decided, pushing the room door closed.

County tossed her card key to the message desk. “Neither do I,” she perched her curvy frame against the edge of the sofa. “From what I hear, those two are a sight to behold. I hate like hell that I can’t be there to see for myself.”

“How you ever managed to get this far ahead in business with such a one-track mind, still amazes me.”

County took no offense. “Me too,” she admitted slyly. “Still, I can easily get over it in a place like this. Really classy of the Ramseys to put us up in one of Seattle’s finest hotels, and I’m damn well gonna enjoy.”

Mick, however, wasn’t so in awe, as her suspicions still ran high. “Why didn’t they tell us beforehand that they only wanted to meet with me?”

“Uggh!” County bellowed, slapping both hands to her navy blue crop pants as she stood. “That’s it,” she said in a defeated tone and took Mick by the elbow. Promptly escorting her best friend from the room, County dismissed Mick by slamming the door in her face.