Chapter 2

“Good morning, Ms. Carmichael.” The security guard greeted Camille as she entered IJDC’s headquarters. As usual, he smiled with a hint of appreciation in his eyes. The building was not open to the public and entering the private offices required passing through a metal detector. Mr. Donovan further ensured their safety by having security guards around the clock. 

She sat her travel coffee mug on the security counter and searched her purse for her employee badge. Camille usually kept it clipped to her suit jacket, but today she dressed casual since she planned to head over to the happy hour directly from the office. The boring badge seemed to clash with her blouse so she tossed it in her handbag.

“Good morning, Richard. How are you this morning?” She continued to fumble through her purse, tossing its contents from side to side.

“I’m all right. You look nice today. What’s the special occasion?”

He patiently waited while openly staring at Camille observing everything about her from her soft sandy ringlets to her professionally wrapped blouse to her fitted dark jeans and black boots. She located her badge and looked up to find his warm smile. He watched her every move.

He always spoke to her and she knew he had a crush on her. Camille learned that he only planned to work security until he completed his master’s degree. He was cute and although there was nothing was finer than a brother in uniform, he was too young for her. She had a job to finish and relationships while on assignment were strictly off-limits. Camille quickly reasoned that it didn’t that looking never hurt anybody.

“Today’s my second anniversary with the company and we’re celebrating at Club VIP for drinks around six-thirty. You’re invited to join us.”

“I wish I could, but I have class tonight.”

“Too bad...” Camille dropped her badge back into her purse and walked to the elevator bay. She selected her floor and looked back to find Richard still standing where she left him. Why not? she thought to herself shooting him a wink over her shoulder.

“By the way, you look really nice today,” he called out to her while leaning against his desk. “Congratulations and have fun.”

“Thank you,” she responded as the elevator doors closed and ascended to the 23rd floor. The office dress code on Fridays was business casual. Most employees wore jeans, but she usually stayed with a standard black or navy pantsuit.

Camille assessed her reflection in the mirrored elevator as she fluffed her hair. She ran a pinky finger across her glossy lips to eliminate some of the shine. She wanted to appear relaxed and approachable. She vowed to have fun at happy hour and enjoy herself while catching up with her co-workers.

The elevator rang as the doors slid open. Camille walked through the office, passing the reception area and making her way to the executive offices.

As an international company, IJDC had locations in several metropolitan cities around the world. Houston served as its flagship and headquarters. The Donovan’s owned the entire building. IJDC had over three hundred employees and occupied the top five floors and leased the rest of the building.

Harold Donovan had made a name for himself. He was known around the world for his eye for exquisite jewelry. He started a small family-owned jewelry store and expanded his business model to include a distribution company. The family still owned the small jewelry boutique, which only opened for private showings.

Harold’s success in business was unmatched; however, his personal life paid the cost for his unwavering avidity. He had married and divorced four times and fathered three children. He was a self-made millionaire and attained it all with help of his jealous mistress, IJDC.

Camille knew more about Harold Donovan than her own father. She had to, because it was suspected that hidden somewhere within his American-Dream-Story, lie a little black book of contacts that would rival that of a mob boss and among those contacts were precious stones once covered by the blood of innocent people. The bureau wanted him and she would give them what they want; one way, or another.

Camille rounded a corner and was ready to enter her office when she froze in the doorway. It appeared her office battled the confetti fairy and lost. She dropped her head, shaking it in amusement.

A silver “Happy Anniversary” banner with multicolored letters ran the length of the bare white wall and its foil trimming appeared to danced and shimmer in the fluorescent lights. She scanned the room and noticed a mixed arrangement of tulips in a crystal vase on the coffee table in her sitting area. She ran her finger across a fuchsia pedal before bending at the waist to smell the faint, sweet aroma of the bouquet.

“Happy Anniversary!” Ashanta sauntered in, assessing her handy work. “Congratulations, girl!”

Camille turned and embraced her friend. “Did you do this?” She asked with her hand placed on her hip, as if she was offended.

“Guilty.” Ashanta raised her right hand, unabashed by the absolute mess she’d made to celebrate Camille’s promotion to VP of International Accounts.

“You know you’re responsible for cleaning this mess up.” They laughed as they sat on the small couch overlooking the city.

“Look at you, all ready for tonight.” Ashanta patted Camille’s hair. “And I can’t believe you left that god awful bun at home.” They laughed again like old friends.

“Oh, no you didn’t. Leave my bun alone. It serves a purpose. I come here to work, not socialize.”

“Whatever! You looked like an old maid in that hideous bun. Maybe now we can find you a man.” She winked and Camille rolled her eyes in true sister girl fashion.

Ashanta was always trying to set her up with some random guy. Rumor had it that she was seeing the boss man, Harold Donovan. Camille planned to find out tonight. She’d take her ribbing knowing that the tables would turn later.

“Man or not, I’m ready to have a good time tonight. Thank you for the flowers and the mess.” She glanced around her office once again wondering how on earth she was going to accomplish anything with Ashanta’s handy work all around her office; including her desk.

“That sounds more like it, give me the praise I deserve. I am responsible for you letting your hair down, putting on this sexy blouse, and the jeans. Girl, I’m a bad woman.”

The age difference between Camille and Ashanta seemed to fade as they forged an unlikely friendship. They met and connected immediately. They both worked in the same department and were the only black women in the department; consequently, they spent a lot of time together. That coupled with working in a majority male office and industry cemented a friendship that was a safe haven when times were difficult. They found comfort in protecting each other’s interests.

Camille listened as Ashanta laid out the plans for later that evening. When they met Camille tried to stay distant and show indifference for her co-worker, but things changed. Long hours, rough office politics, and many promotions later they were almost inseparable. Camille hoped and prayed that Ashanta was not involved with the alleged illegal activities haunting IJDC.

“Out you go,” Camille stood, using her hands to shoo her talkative friend out of her office. “I have work to do before we take on the town.”

Ashanta swatted at Camille’s hands and dragged her feet as she moved towards the exit. She reached the doorway and spun on her heels, facing Camille, all traces of humor and the promise of an exciting night left her face. Camille held her glare and what she saw caused her to shiver, but she waited for her friend’s explanation.

“Hey, Cami, before we head to the club I want to talk with you…away from here.”

Camille knew the use of her pet name meant it was serious and she did not know how to take the sudden change in her mood. “Sure Shani. What’s up? Are you sure you don’t want to talk now?” She placed a gentle hand on Ashanta’s upper arm, rubbing it trying to calm the storm she saw stirring in her eyes.

“No, not now,” she said as she glanced over her shoulder.

Camille followed her eyes. She saw no one coming down the hall. She closed the space between them, repositioning her hands to Ashanta’s shoulders, “Are you sure?”

“No, I’m not sure,” she nervously laughed. “But I can’t discuss it right now, later okay?” The unshed tears in her eyes threatened to spill over.

Camille was concerned, but she agreed. She hugged Ashanta, giving her a supportive squeeze of understanding.

“Okay.”

“Happy Anniversary Camille.”

Saul Donovan barged in, not catching on to the private moment. He stopped and passed between them.

Ashanta turned her back to Saul and began wiping away the traces of her emotions. It annoyed Camille the way he walked around as if his DNA gave him a pass to invade the personal space of others, whether they liked it or not. Harold’s power hungry son was someone to keep your eye on, and not in a good way.

“Thank you, Saul,” Camille said with a fake smile plastered on her face. “Give us a moment and I’ll walk down to your office in a minute.”

“Sure.” Saul paused and gave Ashanta a snarling glimpse before retreating.

“He still doesn’t like me,” Ashanta said before Camille could voice her unease with his parting look.

“He’ll get over it. Harold is a grown man and you are a beautiful woman. Anyone with brains can see the chemistry between you two.” Camille’s words brought the smile back into Ashanta’s eyes. They shared a quick hug before deciding to talk later.

* * *

Camille saved the report on her computer and before organizing the files on her desk, she leaned forward and pressed the intercom button dialing Ashanta’s office. Their conversation had her worried. She watched her transform from her normal bubbly personality to an emotional wreck in seconds.

She wondered if Ashanta’s mood change had anything to do with Saul’s anger towards the rumors, or if their impending conversation would lead to something of value to her case.

She suspected there was some truth to the rumors about Ashanta and Harold dating. Especially after Ashanta failed to correct Camille’s statement following Saul’s departure. They had a lot to discuss.

“Are we still riding together?” Camille asked in response to Ashanta’s greeting.

“No, sorry, my plans have changed. Pick up the phone.”

Camille removed her earring and grabbed the receiver. “What’s up?”

The line went silent.

“Shani, you’re scaring me. What is going on with you?” Her agitation was apparent. 

Nervous laughter was Ashanta’s only response. Camille did not want to rush the conversation, but her feelings were torn. She was concerned for her friend, but what she was about to share could make a significant difference in the case. She grabbed a pen and notepad and she patiently waited.

“Cam, I have a lot to tell you. But I can’t do it here. And it seems,” a smile entering her voice, “I have an escort for the night.”

“An escort? So the rumors are true...who is it?”

“You’ll see. I have so much going on right now. I plan to have fun tonight and worry about the rest later.” The last part seemed more for herself than Camille.

“Ashanta, I’m here if you need me.” Camille meant it, even if they found Ashanta was a part of this mess, she would help in any way she could.

“I know and I appreciate it.”

“Then I’ll see you at Club VIP, with your mystery date.” Camille said lightheartedly.

They disconnected the line. She would have to wait. Her thoughts went from worry to anticipation. She may be closing this case soon. Only time would tell. For now, she would go freshen up and head over to the happy hour.

* * *

A night on the town with Jarvis should be interesting, Marc thought. Jarvis was his older brother. He stood before the wall mirror in his corporate suite adjusting the collar to his button down shirt. He disregarded his usual jeans and running shoes for business casual attire. Houston’s night scene was laid back and his brother would be dressed to kill. It was his thing. Marc preferred comfort to designer labels.

He and his brother were close despite the five-year age difference. Tonight they planned to have dinner with their parents and then head over to Club VIP for drinks. Marc ran his hands across his low-cropped fade ensuing that every hair was in place. He couldn’t remember the last time he had a night with his boys. For the past few years, his life moved at a nonstop speed that now left him exhausted. Case after case, endless traveling, and the nights when he’d awake to another hotel room wondering what country he was in, made his life too monotonous – which lead to his request for an extended leave from the Agency.

Was he experiencing a mid-life crisis? He laughed, “Naw, man, you just need to relax and maybe find a cutie to entertain you.”

Marc moved over to the nightstand and turned on the music. He would push his career plans and crazy life in Virginia aside. For the next few months, he would focus on deciding what to do next with his life. For now, he looked forward to seeing his family.

Marc glanced at his watch and realized he needed to head towards the lobby.

Waiting for the elevator, he glanced out the large bay window. He loved being home. The city was alive and people were moving about. The elevator rang, signaling the doors were open. Marc turned to enter and met the eyes of an admirer.

“After you,” he said as she walked into the elevator. Her stilettos added several inches to her petite frame.

Backed against the cool metal, Marc admired her feminine curves.

“How are you enjoying Houston?” She asked interrupting his thoughts.

“It’s too soon to say. And you?”

Her cherry-covered lips spread to reveal beautiful white teeth. “I am having a blast. Texans do it big.”

If she wasn’t so sexy, he would feel violated. Her roaming eyes and the slight way she pulled her bottom lip between her teeth presented a tempting picture. If he wasn’t careful, this hiatus could turn disastrous.

He knew he shouldn’t ask. But what the hell. “How so?”

A soft moan filled the elevator. “I could show you better than I can tell you?”

Her forwardness almost surprised him, almost. She wasn’t his type, but she sure was a looker.

“Hum…may be another time.” Marc said with a slight nod of resignation.

The doors of the elevator opened to the lobby and he gestured for her to proceed before him.

“Your loss,” she shrugged. “If you change your mind, I’m here for another week. Room 818.”

“I’ll remember that.”

He watched her prance away in a backless fire red dress with an overt switch in her hips.

Damn, he definitely needed a drink now.