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  She spread a towel atop her nightstand, then filled the red Crock-Pot with water from the bathroom vanity. Carefully carrying the pot to her bedroom, she centered it on the plush cotton, plugged in the cord, then turned the switch to medium. Returning to her en suite, Victoria started their bathwater. More hot than cold water flowed into the Jacuzzi tub. The temperature should be a perfect lukewarm for her to bathe Heavenly when he arrived in an hour.

  Kneeling on the padded bench in her casting room, Victoria’s nakedness allowed each of her seven spiritual channels to become exclusively receptive to positivity. She laid a pair of medium purple boxer briefs, with a black waistband, on the altar in front of her. Purple because the most important aspect of sex was creativity.

  To her left was a seven-inch-long (cloaked in red, yellow, and green linen) doll stuffed with straw. Red for passion. Yellow for optimism. Green for growth. She’d meticulously hand-painted Heavenly’s features onto the face as she’d done with Tracy’s image, which was on the bottom shelf below Willy’s replica, which was perched on row two. She loved the way Willy’s energy balanced her. At her right was a stack of money. Ten $100 bills.

  Victoria intertwined a pair of black wooden beads between her fingers, then chanted, “Heavenly will forsake all others as long as he monetarily and otherwise benefits from all that I contribute to his well-being.”

  She placed the doll in a clear bowl, covered it with the beads, then filled the bowl with holy water. Victoria dripped blessed rose water on the stack of money. Racing to the Jacuzzi, she turned off the water, retraced her steps, to curse Heavenly’s underwear.

  Rubbing spiritual oil in her palms, she laid them on the crotch of the boxer briefs. “Heavenly’s dick will get aroused for me and me only. The goddess in me takes total dominion over the god in Heavenly. No other woman shall stimulate Heavenly mentally or physically.”

  Carefully removing the beads and doll from the bowl, she placed them on the purple boxers, put the stack of cash on top, then rolled everything like a wrapped sandwich.

  Victoria added lavender, sage, bitters, rose water, and oil to the clear dish where she’d stored his pubic hairs, then poured part of the potion onto the wrap. Warding off all females of interest, she prayed over the doll, “Heavenly will keep faithful unto me, Lord Jesus. Should he think of another female, his heart will truly skip a beat and his body shall twitch uncontrollably.”

  She placed the wrap inside an open pure amethyst stone by the window. Raising the blinds, she concentrated on how sunshine would beam on Heavenly as long as he kept unto her.

  Cautiously she poured the remaining potion into a small glass bottle, sealed, then safely stored it on the top shelf, ensuring she had the same exact mixture to break the spell.

  Returning to the bedroom, Victoria retrieved two pink crystal eggs. She inserted one in the pot, the other she’d buried in a glass of crushed ice, along with a waterproof Slim Jim and Luxe clit stimulators.

  “Hello,” Heavenly called out. “I’m here.”

  An hour had passed quickly. That, or he’d arrived early. Victoria made certain to completely close the door to the casting room.

  “Hey, handsome,” she said, lightly planting a kiss on his lips. “Wait for me in the Jacuzzi.”

  “That’s what’s up.” He smiled, rubbing his palms together.

  Oh, she’d almost forgotten her final step. While Heavenly entered her bedroom, she hurried to her casting room. Removing the bottle from the top shelf, Victoria returned to her en suite, drizzled three drops of the voodoo love potion that would make Heavenly unable to get an erection every time he thought of another woman.

  “That smells good,” he said, then turned on the jets. “What is it?”

  Victoria answered, “Love oil.”

  Not leaving anything to chance, Victoria drizzled three more of her special love drops into the Crock-Pot, then soaked two face towels. An incoming call redirected her attention. Placing the open bottle of love potion on the nightstand, she quickly put a glass container of Kama Sutra oil inside the pot, then secured the lid.

  “Hello,” she politely answered, knowing that it could be a robo call or important business.

  “Is this Victoria Fox?” a woman asked.

  “Please state the nature of your call,” Victoria insisted.

  “Hold on,” the woman stated.

  Picking up the small bottle of love potion, she placed the phone between her shoulder and ear, then retrieved the top.

  “It’s getting lonely in here,” Heavenly sang.

  She pressed the mute button, then told him, “Give me one minute, handsome.”

  Unmuting the call, Victoria walked to the casting room to store the bottle on the top shelf. The woman said, “I was double-checking. You’re listed as William Copeland’s emergency contact. Is that correct?”

  Victoria stood still. Her breathing became heavy. “That’s correct.”

  “Mr. Copeland suffered a heart attack and was pronounced dead on arrival at the hospital.”

  Victoria, the bottle of love potion, and her cell phone fell to the floor.

  CHAPTER 44

  Chancelor

  Build it and they’d come.

  Chancelor entered the Gathering Spot, proceeded to the conference room he’d reserved for the day. Membership afforded the luxury of his not having to enter into a long-term lease of office space and furniture.

  He powered on his computer.

  Developers in Atlanta were learning that despite their best efforts, people weren’t instantly gravitating toward their shopping communities and luxury apartment complexes simply because their properties were new.

  One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six. Seven people approached the glass-enclosed room. Chancelor waved, motioning for them to come inside.

  “Welcome,” he said, repeating, “Welcome. Help yourself to a hot or cold beverage. Sit wherever you’d like.”

  Helping start-ups was his preference, but established corporations compensated him a lot more. His phone screen illuminated. Tracy’s photo appeared. His heart raced; he wanted to answer. The call went to voice mail. He prayed she’d leave a message.

  “Any questions before we get started?” Chancelor asked.

  “Ready when you are, Mr. Leonard,” the CEO announced, holding his cream-colored mug with one hand, but not using its handle.

  Noticing his wedding band, Chancelor scanned the ring fingers of the others. Based on symbolism, he was the only single person present.

  Great. The earlier I finish, the sooner I can hit up Tracy.

  “I’ve reviewed your package. If you want to elevate your brand, you’re going to have to invest millions into marketing. Here’s why my company is the perfect match for yours.” Chancelor began his PowerPoint presentation with statistical data of his success rate in the Atlanta metropolitan area based on client surveys and their consumers’ satisfaction.

  His phone lit up again. It was her . . . again. He hated ignoring Tracy, but he had to. For now.

  “Let’s take Ponce City Market and compare it to the Shops at Buckhead. What do they have in common?” he asked the developers, who were preparing to break ground on a mixed-use three-hundred-thousand-square-foot building in midtown.

  The all-white, predominantly male group looked at one another. The guy at the opposite end of the rectangular-shaped table, next to the CEO, spoke. “They’re both purportedly being acquired by new owners.”

  “Correct. New management is one thing, but the sale of real estate originally intended to be held is an indicator that there’s a problem. We know that,” Chancelor said, then asked, “Why is this occurring?”

  Silence filled the air. Either they were reluctant to give an uninformed answer, or did they think his presentation was rudimentary? Tracy’s face reappeared on his cell. Her incoming calls and their being mute was unnerving. He prayed his services were contracted.

  Chancelor was no fool. As much as he loved Tracy, making money came before bitches and
whores.

  Clicking to the next slide, Chancelor continued, “Research shows that many customers aren’t aware of which retailers are located in those malls. The majority of the restaurants in both developments are not on the out-of-town visitors’ top places to dine. One is extremely high-end and costs over one hundred dollars for two people to eat. The other has eateries with reasonable prices, but they also have menu items that don’t cater to the majority. Kids want burgers, not veggies and fries, not sweet potatoes. Neither location comfortably accommodates families with children. Failure happens whenever there’s a disconnect between the product and the people.

  “You have to consider the income bracket of individuals relocating to Atlanta. And from what part of the country and the world they’re coming from. Your proposal to build in midtown is only going to yield a return on your investment if you start by marketing it properly.”

  Observing seven poker faces, Chancelor was convinced that he needed this group more than they did him. He had to say something to create readable expressions.

  As he moved along with his presentation, one of the developers interrupted with, “Midtown will take care of itself because the millennials are becoming the majority.”

  “Millennials on average don’t waste their money on material things. They don’t lock themselves into thirty-year mortgages or a high-cost rental. Hostels over hotels. Few of them commit to relationships. Fewer of them get married. And the women are opting on average to have kids around thirty-five.”

  Ready to end the meeting, and connect with Tracy, Chancelor began pacing.

  Victoria had warned him, but what harm could he do touching Tracy? Dude had fucked her. Maybe Chancelor could stop off at the store and get himself a gas mask. That was it! Why hadn’t he thought of that sooner?

  One of the two women pushed away from the table, uncrossed, then crossed her legs in the opposite direction, before inquiring, “What do you suggest, Mr. Leonard? Marketwise.”

  Really? This was how she wanted to express herself? If Chancelor stared at the gap underneath her skirt, she’d be offended. He’d noticed her savvy sexiness when she first entered the room ahead of the rest. Her voluptuous curves were in all the right places, but he wasn’t interested in what was between her creamy thighs.

  Glad she’d asked, Chancelor replied, “I have trendsetting exclusives for you guys. I’ll submit your proposal within the next three business days.”

  “What’s it going to cost us?” one of the guys questioned.

  “Somewhere between two-point-one and two-point-six million if you want to retain me for the first four to five years.” Chancelor turned off his PowerPoint, placed his laptop in his brown leather cross-body bag.

  “If you don’t mind, we’ll continue using the conference room,” the CEO said.

  Typically, Chancelor would stay and work on his plan, but not today. “Stay as long as you’d like. It’s available until six o’clock.”

  Exiting the glass door, he had to find out what Tracy wanted.

  Instead of calling, Chancelor decided to drive directly to Tracy’s home. Parking in front of her gate, he dialed her number.

  “Hey, Chancelor. Thanks for coming. I’m glad you’re here.” Tracy’s voice was sweet. “Park in my circular driveway.”

  Chancelor got out of his car, trotted up the steps. It didn’t matter why she’d called. He was there and happy they were back together again.

  Tracy opened the door, wearing a leopard see-through top and short-ass jeans that hugged her ass the way Chancelor wanted to. He stared at her camel-toe imprint, then up at her face. She mumbled with her mouth closed.

  Damn! I need that gas mask.

  Frowning, he couldn’t understand anything she’d said. Tears fell as Tracy reached into her back pocket, then handed him $4,000 and a note.

  He was more impressed with the fact that anything other than her fit into those jeans.

  Chancelor read: I’m so sorry, Chancelor. I can’t live in my house the rest of my life. Please forgive me. Give Victoria my condolences and ask her to undo whatever she did to me that day at church.

  If he made contact, was what Victoria told him true? Handing Tracy the money, Chancelor kept the note to show Victoria. “Don’t worry. I’ll make her break the spell,” he said to impress Tracy, knowing he had no control over Victoria’s actions.

  Tracy hugged Chancelor, then leaned her head on his chest and cried without parting her lips.

  “I love you.” Consoling her, Chancelor added, “It’s okay, baby.”

  Cupping her nose, Tracy stepped back, then slammed the door.

  “Tra . . . Oh. Damn!” Chancelor cupped his hand over his mouth, ran down the stairs to his car.

  Texting Victoria, I’m on my way to your house. I have a $2.6 million deal to present in three days and my mouth smells like shit!!!!!!!

  He sped out of Tracy’s driveway.

  CHAPTER 45

  Jordan

  Since she’d dated Donovan Bradley Sr., Jordan hadn’t placed a picture of a man on her desk. Bloodsucking vampires looking for a comeuppance were posting inappropriate images and comments on Donovan’s social media pages. Representing him was beginning to feel more like having an asshole celebrity client than a mourning dad.

  The photo of Langston wasn’t one that he’d given her. Or one from his profile on the app CelibateNoMore. Brown snakeskin hard-sole shoes, a tan slim-fit suit, with a pink button-up shirt, matching fedora, dark sunglasses, and his left sleeve pulled up just enough to see the face of his designer watch. She’d found that seductive pic in her search engine.

  Sitting at her desk, Jordan thought about her new guy and her next orgasm. Langston was definitely worth her waiting for the right man. She closed her eyes, recalling how attentive he was in bed. The tingling in her pussy radiated throughout her entire body. That old feeling of being in love, when she didn’t think it was ever going to happen again, made every moment of her day easier.

  No judge, solicitor, or juror could ruin her high. Skimming through her client’s file, Jordan was determined to have a ruling in her favor today.

  She sent a text to Langston: Can’t wait to see you tonight.

  He replied, I have a surprise for you. I’ll text you the address. Can you be there at 6pm?

  Yes, she messaged back.

  Blowing a kiss at his picture, Jordan placed her client’s folder in her briefcase. Exiting her office, she told Tia, “I won’t be back after court today. Forward my calls to my cell. After six hold all calls, except for Wilson Ealy’s.”

  “If you don’t mind my saying, Ms. Jackson, you are glowing.” Tia smiled. “Whoever the new guy in the photo is, he must be a keeper.”

  “We’ll see,” Jordan stated, not wanting to appear anxious.

  En route to the courthouse, Jordan received a text message from Victoria. “Siri, read my recent text message.”

  Siri said, in an Australian man’s voice, “You have one unread text message from Victoria Fox. ‘Just left the morgue. Had to identify William Copeland’s body. Found a handwritten will on his dining-room table, leaving half of his estate to Tracy Benjamin. Getting ready to burn it! Then flush it down the garbage disposal where it belongs.’ Would you like to reply?”

  Jordan wasn’t shocked regarding the note. Victoria hadn’t mentioned William Copeland had been ill or killed. No need to worry about the unknown. As with DJ, there was nothing Jordan could do to bring him back. Her client who was on trial today was her priority.

  “No,” Jordan commanded Siri. She wished Willy hadn’t put that information in writing, especially not for Tracy Benjamin. Victoria was a friend worth protecting, but her tampering with evidence was illegal. If Jordan were in Victoria’s position, she would’ve done the same—except she wouldn’t have told a soul.

  Brother Copeland had lived a good life. There was no need to mourn his passing. He was never on the sick and shut-in list. He hadn’t had a major surgery. Nor was he in hospice or given comfo
rt care. Whatever happened was probably brief, because Willy looked fine at church last Sunday.

  Jordan smiled at the thought that perhaps Tracy’s breath sent Brother Copeland to an early grave. Parking in the lot at the courthouse, Jordan deleted Victoria’s last message. Another incoming text message registered on her phone. This time from Levi.

  He asked, Have you heard from Kingston?

  No. Why? I’m heading into court now. Have a date tonight with Langston. I’ll reach out to Kingston. What do you want me to tell him?

  I have a table for the concert tonight at Mable House. Ask if he’s interested in going. And he was supposed to wire me $10,000.

  That was nice of Levi, but the money was his initial concern. Seemed as though he and Kingston were becoming good friends. A table at that venue was normally for six people. If Kingston was there with Levi, Jordan didn’t have to worry about him popping up on her date with Langston.

  She texted Kingston while walking: Levi has a concert ticket for you for a show tonight. Call him . . . now.

  Checking the calendar outside the door, she confirmed that Judge Goodwin was presiding. Jordan strutted inside, dressed in a crimson suit, white blouse, and four-inch stilettos. After checking in, Jordan greeted her client.

  “Let me speak with the solicitor. If she offers a plea deal for forty hours of community service, I recommend we take that deal. Anything more, I suggest we go before the judge.” Jordan was not going to be intimidated by Judge Goodwin.

  The judicial system was corrupt. Attorneys knew that. While judges could be removed from their jurisdiction, a judge could never be fired. That meant they would move from one location to another. Jordan believed that judges weren’t above the law; in many instances, they circumvented the law.

  Jordan informed the solicitor that her client was a forty-five-year-old black male, never in trouble with the law, and his charge was a misdemeanor, not a felony. To her dismay the solicitor offered one-year probation, forty hours of community service, and ten anger management classes. All based on obstruction because he’d asked why his father was being arrested.