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coffee table, and pushed up from the sofa to go to the window. He stood with his back to her and leaned against the windowsill, shoulders tight. “Kenya, you know nothing about this guy.” He paused. “But you’re going, aren’t you?”
    “I’m going to work tomorrow that’s where I’m going, Randall.”
    His footfalls were intent across her carpeted floor; he perched on the edge of the sofa and sat with his arms out over his knees. Stabbing the remaining sesame chicken in the box as if the words he searched for were in the bottom. Kenya’s heart twisted.
    “You okay?” she asked a little saddened their friendship had a limit on its closeness. No romance.
    “I asked you to go to the Bahamas and you turned me down…”he reminded her then picked up his glass of water, downing it in one drink. His Adam’s apple bobbed under the thick swallows and no matter how irritated he became she couldn’t change the situation between them.
    “We live in the same building and you’re my employer’s client. I’m close to making Accounts Manager. How would that look if I started dating the marketing director of one of our biggest clients?”
    Ducking she missed the pillow he threw over the table hitting the back of the sofa. That lightened the moment; he could always do that when it got heavy.
    “I said go to the Bahamas not get married in the Bahamas.”
    “He asked me to go, but I never said I considered it.” She caught his tilted gaze and raised eyebrow. “Whaaat?” she drew out.
    He started in on her sweet and sour pork, dipping a piece into the box of extra sauce. Pointing the juicy meat in her direction, he said, “What did you say he did?”
    “Why are you so suspicious? You left me here with him.”
    “I left the door open while I went down stairs and paid for dinner. I slept on this chair last night. Lover boy went home around two a.m. and came back about five,” he told her. “Where does he make his money? Bentleys aren’t company cars down at the Friend of the Court.”
    “He runs a driver service, helping the Friend of the Court. Don’t ask me, it sounds circumspect. I’ll look it up tomorrow on the Internet. I have a “Surprise Tour” at work tomorrow from one of our bigger clients. I need to wash my hair and see if Donna at the shop can get me in and give it a good flat iron.” Pushing up from the sofa, she padded to the kitchen and washed the few dishes. Wiping off the counter she rinsed down the sink then emptied the trash and set the bag beside the door. Popping in a new bag, she said over the noise, “If Mr. Blakemore doesn’t check out then I’ll know.” In the living room she asked Randall to take the trash out on his way out, picked up the blanket off the sofa, and headed down the short hall to her bedroom.
    Hearing Randall's voice, she stopped. “Check him thoroughly, Kenya. We aren’t dating, but you’re still my girl and I care what happens to you.” She winked at the man some good woman needed to have on her arm, just not her.
    “I hear you, Randall.”
    “No more driving with a high fever either.”
    Kenya pushed open her bedroom door, tossed the blanket on the hamper and leaned against the wall. Jonathan Blakemore, who are you really? And why does she even care?
     
     

 

Chapter Three
     
    “Ms. Claiborne will finish the account meeting. Any questions she’s more than capable to answer in my absence.” Ms. Reinhart directed passing out the new bank privacy policies every employee must get to know. Kenya slid the paper under the flap of the envelope and stared at her boss. Reinhart said, “I have a plane to catch, and, Kenya, I don’t want you to stay too late. It would hurt me to know you relapsed filling in for me. No backsliding because you didn’t take care of yourself.”
    If the conference table could scream from pain, the walls would be rocking from the vibration of the sound. Kenya flexed her fingers after seeing her knuckles bleaching out from the