Just Can't Let Go Read online

  Also by Mary B. Morrison

  The Crystal Series

  Baby, You’re the Best

  Just Can’t Let Go

  If I Can’t Have You series

  If I Can’t Have You

  I’d Rather Be With You

  If You Don’t Know Me

  Soulmates Dissipate Series

  Soulmates Dissipate

  Never Again Once More

  He’s Just a Friend

  Somebody’s Gotta Be on Top

  Nothing Has Ever Felt Like This

  When Somebody Loves You Back

  Darius Jones

  The Honey Diaries

  Sweeter Than Honey

  Who’s Loving You

  Unconditionally Single

  Darius Jones

  She Ain’t the One (coauthored with Carl Weber)

  Maneater (anthology with Noire)

  The Eternal Engagement

  Justice Just Us Just Me

  Who’s Making Love

  Mary B. Morrison, writing as HoneyB

  Sexcapades

  Single Husbands

  Married on Mondays

  The Rich Girls Club

  Presented by Mary B. Morrison

  Diverse Stories: From the Imaginations of Sixth Graders

  (an anthology of fiction written by thirty-three sixth graders)

  Just Can’t Let Go

  MARY B. MORRISON

  KENSINGTON PUBLISHING CORP.

  www.kensingtonbooks.com

  All copyrighted material within is Attributor Protected.

  Table of Contents

  Also by

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  Dedication

  Acknowledgments

  PROLOGUE - Devereaux

  CHAPTER 1 - Ebony

  CHAPTER 2 - Alexis

  CHAPTER 3 - Spencer

  CHAPTER 4 - Blake

  CHAPTER 5 - Spencer

  CHAPTER 6 - Devereaux

  CHAPTER 7 - Phoenix

  CHAPTER 8 - Alexis

  CHAPTER 9 - Blake

  CHAPTER 10 - Devereaux

  CHAPTER 11 - Ebony

  CHAPTER 12 - Alexis

  CHAPTER 13 - Spencer

  CHAPTER 14 - Blake

  CHAPTER 15 - Phoenix

  CHAPTER 16 - Spencer

  CHAPTER 17 - Devereaux

  CHAPTER 18 - Alexis

  CHAPTER 19 - Phoenix

  CHAPTER 20 - Ebony

  CHAPTER 21 - Blake

  CHAPTER 22 - Devereaux

  CHAPTER 23 - Spencer

  CHAPTER 24 - Alexis

  CHAPTER 25 - Phoenix

  CHAPTER 26 - Devereaux

  CHAPTER 27 - Blake

  CHAPTER 28 - Blake

  CHAPTER 29 - Ebony

  CHAPTER 30 - Alexis

  CHAPTER 31 - Devereaux

  CHAPTER 32 - Phoenix

  CHAPTER 33 - Spencer

  CHAPTER 34 - Blake

  CHAPTER 35 - Ebony

  CHAPTER 36 - Alexis

  CHAPTER 37 - Phoenix

  CHAPTER 38 - Devereaux

  CHAPTER 39 - Spencer

  CHAPTER 40 - Alexis

  CHAPTER 41 - Blake

  CHAPTER 42 - Phoenix

  CHAPTER 43 - Ebony

  CHAPTER 44 - Spencer

  CHAPTER 45 - Blake

  CHAPTER 46 - Alexis

  CHAPTER 47 - Devereaux

  CHAPTER 48 - Blake

  CHAPTER 49 - Alexis

  CHAPTER 50 - Ebony

  CHAPTER 51 - Phoenix

  CHAPTER 52 - Devereaux

  CHAPTER 53 - Alexis

  CHAPTER 54 - Spencer

  CHAPTER 55 - Ebony

  CHAPTER 56 - Blake

  CHAPTER 57 - Phoenix

  CHAPTER 58 - Alexis

  CHAPTER 59 - Blake

  CHAPTER 60 - Devereaux

  CHAPTER 61 - Devereaux

  A READING GROUP GUIDE

  DON’T MISS Mary B. Morrison’s If I Can’t Have You Series

  To the extent that the image or images on the cover of this book depict a person or persons, such person or persons are merely models, and are not intended to portray any character or characters featured in the book.

  DAFINA BOOKS are published by

  Kensington Publishing Corp.

  119 West 40th Street

  New York, NY 10018

  Copyright © 2016 by Mary B. Morrison

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any means without the prior written consent of the Publisher, excepting brief quotes used in reviews.

  Library of Congress Card Catalogue Number: 2016933897

  Dafina and the Dafina logo Reg. U.S. Pat. & TM Off.

  ISBN: 978-1-6177-3074-0

  ISBN-10: 1-61773-074-2

  First Kensington Hardcover Edition: August 2016

  eISBN-13: 978-1-61773-075-7

  eISBN-10: 1-61773-075-0

  Kensington Electronic Edition: August 2016

  John Ferguson, rest in peace brother-in-law

  Elester Noel and Joseph Henry Morrison, my guardian angels

  Acknowledgments

  Praising the Creator for keeping me mentally, spiritually, physically, and financially sound. The life I’ve been blessed to live for well over a decade, I do not take for granted.

  Celebrating sixteen years in the literary industry with Kensington Publishing Corporation is truly a blessing. Steve and Adam Zacharius, you continue to own and operate a publishing empire that proves more successful each day with innovative and cutting-edge ideas. With you, I’m more than an author, I’m family.

  I couldn’t be happier for my editor and friend, Selena James, on birthing a beautiful baby boy into this world. Congratulations, mommy, also on your engagement.

  I’ve adopted over a thousand (aspiring and published) writers into my circle. April 2015, I started a Facebook group to inspire my fans, family, and friends to write. The name of my group is Mary B. Morrison’s Write a Book in 90 Days Challenge.

  Many of you have a story to tell. Some don’t know where to start. Others have a difficult time committing to the process. Encouraging you to do something you’re passionate about is one of my ways to give back. By the time this book is in print, some of you will also be published authors. I’m looking forward to becoming your fan!

  Always cheering the loudest for my son, Jesse Byrd, Jr.; his first novel, Oiseau: The King Catcher, was published in 2015. His content is for ages twelve and over. I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again, “God gave me the right child.” I continue to pray all great things for Jesse and his beautiful fiancée, Emaan Abbass.

  I have amazing siblings: Wayne Morrison, Andrea Morrison, Derrick Morrison, Regina Morrison, Margie Rickerson, and Debra Noel, I love you guys. My in-laws Angela Lewis-Morrison, Dannette Morrison, Roland Johnson, and Desi Rickerson are the best. I appreciate all that each of you has added to our family over the years.

  My unmarried husband and true friend, Richard C. Montgomery, with an upstanding man like you in my life, I may never say, “I do.”

  A special shout-out goes to Kenneth Todd, Bill Voget, Clarence Randall, and Edward and Tasha Allen. Also to Felicia Polk, Robin Green, Vyllorya A. Evans, Myra Evans, Marilyn Edge, and Patrease Watson for surprising the hell out of me when you guys walked into my dressing room for the production of my stage play, Single Husbands. I was moved to tears. I will never forget that moment. Margie Maisonett, the wine basket was right on time, lady. Taliseia and Gregory Charles, one of my favorite couples.

  These standouts made Single Husbands stage play a huge success: my entire cast, Christal Jordan, owner of Enchanted PR, Kass Ish-mel and Briana Dixon of Enchanted PR, my best friend since th
ird grade, Vanessa Ibanitoru, my nephew and personal assistant, Roland Morrison, promoter, Jeremy ‘JD’ Hill, radio personalities Missy E. Partydoll and Joyce Litel, and photographers AJ Alexander and Jack Manning.

  There are so many people I need to express my gratitude to. If your hands and/or heart touch my production, I am eternally grateful.

  Kendall Minter, no entertainment lawyer reps like you and I’m blessed to be your client. You’ve supported me on levels that I can never repay you for. Congratulations on the release of your book, Understanding and Negotiating 360 Ancillary Rights Deals.

  What’s life without social media, baby (pumping both palms toward the sky)! I can never have enough Facebook fans, Twitter, Tumblr, and Instagram followers, and McDonogh 35 Senior High alumni supporters, but I can say, “I love you for supporting me!”

  Wishing each of my readers peace and prosperity in abundance. #Educate #Elevate Visit me online at www.MaryMorrison.com. Sign up and invite your folks to do the same for my HoneyBuzz newsletter. Join my fan page on Facebook at TheRealMaryB; follow me on Twitter at @marybmorrison and Instagram at @maryhoneyb morrison.

  This is novel #2 in The Crystal series

  Everything a man does is for sex . . . and more sex.

  PROLOGUE

  Devereaux

  “No! Stop! Stop! Stop! Please! Stop!”

  For every “stop” I banged on the script in front of me. I stretched my arms toward heaven, then whispered, “Lord Jesus, please don’t let me fling these papers in her face.” My fingers curled to fists; my right leg trembled. Refraining from calling her a bitch, I shouted in her direction, “Who in the hell are you?!”

  The actress seated across the table from me was not the same woman I’d hired.

  Her audition for the role of Ebony Waterhouse was spectacular. Her performance for the pilot was worthy of an Emmy nomination. My prediction upon executing her contract was she’d get better with each taping of my next ten episodes. But she hadn’t improved over time. The talent of the person I’d chosen to star as the lead in my new show had disappeared, and the person I was looking at now made an early cancellation seem imminent.

  The only thing that kept me from hurling these lines in her direction was a lawsuit. “I swear to you. I’ll rewrite this script and kill your ass off in the first episode if I have to.” With each word, I pounded my fist on the table. “Do you hear me?” Coffee splattered onto the pages right before several sheets slid to the floor. The actress sprang to her feet.

  Pointing at her, I yelled, “Sit! Your ass down!”

  Moving in slow motion, her rear end descended until it touched the edge of the leather cushion. She scooted back and leaned forward.

  My assistant picked up my mug, raced to craft service’s corner of the room, returned with a fistful of napkins, cleaned up the spill, placed a fresh script in front of me, then gathered the pages near my feet.

  Exhaling hot air from my mouth, I softly said, “Thanks, Tiera.”

  “You’re welcome, Ms. Crystal.” Hesitantly, she asked, “Would you like a fresh cup of coffee?”

  “Not now.” I held my aching head in my palms, then grunted, “Ugh!”

  Tiera sat in the seat next to me. Rolled her chair closer to mine.

  Staring at the stranger facing me, I noticed that her high vanilla cheekbones didn’t flush to any shade of red. She didn’t move. Those big, bright hazel-gray cat-like eyes narrowed to a slither, but she didn’t blink. She acted as though she were immortal.

  Is this bitch challenging me? If my office wasn’t on the second floor, I’d . . . I heaved.

  Her fabulous twenty-two-inch wavy blond human hair lace front wig draped her toasted tanned shoulders. She’d literally transformed herself into a million-dollar mannequin.

  The black lace halter jumpsuit—suctioned to every curve of her upper body—barely covered her areolas. The pants hem flared above her red Manolo shoes. The Cartier diamond pendant and the six earrings (three two-carat studs in each ear) didn’t impress me. All that bling, dazzling in the sunlight that beamed through the glass, added heat to my flaring nostrils.

  Silence made me want to pick her ass up, put her in the window, and leave her on display. She wasn’t supermodel runway chic when she auditioned, but the new look could significantly increase my ratings. Sexy as she was, this wasn’t a goddamn game.

  I massaged my shoulder.

  The problem was apparent. She was flashy, but she wasn’t refined. Hunger didn’t loom in her eyes. The taste of a standing ovation from people around the world wasn’t on the tip of her tongue. It was on mine and I’d die before I’d swallow.

  “West-Léon, out! I have to find someone who really wants to costar with you.”

  Handsome strolled alongside the conference table. His masculine, chiseled, mouthwatering body inspired me to flip his real name, Leon West, to something more suitable by hyphenating his first with his last and enunciating it with a French accent.

  Each of my lead girls had two guys. Ebony would eventually have three. The third, the heartthrob of them all, the one who was sure to make millions of panties wet and some boxer briefs too. I wasn’t revealing him until the finale.

  Standing in the doorway, West-Léon said, “She’s nervous, Devereaux. She’ll be okay.” Then he exited the room.

  For her sake, I hoped West-Léon was right. Now that I’d gotten my big break as creator and executive producer for my television series, Sophisticated Side Chicks ATL, she was reading for the first episode like she had a fart lodged in her brain. I had no idea whom I’d really put on payroll.

  Disgusted with her staring at me, I pushed my chair back and stood. “Answer me, Goldie!”

  She sat up, adjusted her breasts.

  Boom, boom. Boom, boom. Boom, boom.

  The blunt force of my pulse thumping nonstop against my temples gave me an instant migraine. I removed my glasses, pressed my thumbs into the sides of my forehead, and then took a deep breath. Slowly, I made my way to her, pulled out the chair with her seated in it.

  “Get up,” I told her.

  Quietly, she elevated herself on her six-inch heels and faced me. I moved so close I felt the rise and fall of her breasts against my collarbone.

  Inching back, I lowered my voice. Calmly, I asked again, “Who are you?”

  Tears clouded her eyes as her lips tightened.

  “Save it for the camera. Answer me.”

  A few days ago, I’d sat one-on-one with her as I’d done with my entire cast. She told me she was an artist first. Professed that her passion for acting took precedence over everything in her life, except her mother and father. They were natives of and resided in Colombia.

  I didn’t ask her to, she told me, if necessary, she’d place her career before the husband who made her a United States citizen. If she’d had a child, I sensed this woman might sacrifice being a parent to make sure she shared in this grandiose moment of my becoming a trailblazer on a mission to dismiss every double standard men had created to suppress women.

  She took one step back. “I’ll get it together. I promise. I just need a minute.”

  This time I took the deepest breath I could. Slowly exhaled a fraction of an ounce of relief. I did not want to embrace her. If I did, good intentions could turn bad. My hands could wrap themselves around her long, narrow neck.

  “Goldie, what’s wrong? Did somebody die?” I asked, praying there was justification for her behavior.

  At this very moment, the silence was deafening. Three of the producers were in the room with the three of us. They’d worked on numerous shows, had IMDB pages filled with notable credits. They’d generously invested their finances with me. The largest contributor loved my female empowerment platform, but their company insisted on remaining a silent partner. They’d come aboard like a knight in shining armor just in time to save our primetime slot. All I’d witnessed was the miracle of their paper trail. They were relying on me, not the actress I’d hired.

  I was not a vio
lent person, but I was ready to strangle Goldie. If I failed, no one would give these two black women a second chance. Our success was dependent upon one another. Tiera, my cast, my set designers, my technical staff, my drivers, wardrobe, hair, makeup artists, and everyone receiving a 1099 were all depending on a paycheck from me.

  Atlanta was swarming with talented females who would do practically anything to snatch the role of Ebony Waterhouse. I had four leading ladies. Brea, Misty, and Emerald all read well. I’d saved the best to end our week on a high note, or so I’d thought. We were set to start filming shortly, and I refused to increase my bottom line to give Goldie additional time to get her shit together. My team was not working on the weekend, and I had a fiancé to please and other shows to pen.

  Her real name was Goldie Jackson. I started to shut her out for that reason alone. My fiancé, Phoenix, had pleaded for me to give his client a chance. Phoenix had reinvented himself . . . again, boasting how over three hundred film projects had roots in Atlanta last year. Starting a talent consultant firm to advise models and actors on how to break into the industry was a challenging spinoff from his former role as publicist. He had no contracts. A few people he’d taken on never paid him. He’d insisted that Goldie was his golden ticket. I tried to offer him my attorney’s assistance with getting legal documents executed, but Phoenix was my proud, broke man.

  Since I’d refused to let him get involved directly with my production, I had to support him. His attempt at success was lame. A visionary had a plan. A dreamer had hopes. I gave this Goldie girl a chance based on Phoenix’s dream. Now I might be the one fucked.

  Staring into her eyes, I said, “You are no longer Goldie Jackson. You are Ebony Waterhouse. You live, eat, breathe, sleep, and shit as Ebony Waterhouse every second of every hour of every day. Until the very last episode is in the can, you are Ebony Waterhouse.