Forever. (This. Is. Not. Over. Book 3) by Shannon Dianne Page A

need to call her back.” He says to himself.
    “Workaholic?” I say as I cut my eyes at him. I forbid Marlon to even glance at a work message after nine p.m.
    “ Of course not.” He says with that smile of his. “Just trying to make it happen.” He slides his phone back in his pocket before looking around at The Board again.
    “I’m not sure how it is with Boston’s white elite, but it’s not easy to gain entrance into The Board here in the city. You have to be invited in. My society is very select,” I inform Malcolm. Just in case he thought my society wasn’t up to par with his.
    “It’s damn near impossible to get an official invitation to an event like this.” He looks at me. “And I’m not a part of Boston’s white elite. I’m with the politicos and it consists of everyone.” He looks out into the crowd. “Just ask Judge Carmichael, I run into him often.”
                  “I didn’t mean to offend you.” I did.
                  “You didn’t.” Damn.
                  “It’s just that I always wanted to get my own invitation to enter this group; but alas, I’m still riding on the coattails of my parents.”
                  “I did that for a while. No shame in using what you’ve got. And what you have is a mother and father who are top Boston doctors. Use them—that’s what they’re there for.”
                  “But I always wanted to get respect in my own right. You know?”
                  “I know exactly what you mean.”
                  “Marlon’s almost there.” I nod as I look into the crowd. “Pretty soon, he and I will be invited in because we deserve it, not because of my parents. Or should I say, we would have been invited in.”
                  “It’ll happen. Marlon’s the go-to guy for property. You know that when you deal with him it’ll all be fair and confidential.” Speaking of confidential …
                  “Rumor has it he sells homes to politicos to stash their girlfriends in.”
                  “He does.” He turns to look at me and we both smile at each other. Surely, Malcolm has used Marlon’s services to stash the girlfriend of a client or two. (Or possibly his own girlfriend. Poor Danielle. And to think she’s seven months pregnant.) “And I’m sure he tells you some of the stories.”
    “Alright, I’ll admit it, he does. Oh wait, should I have said anything?”
    “To anyone else?” He laughs. “No.”
    “Well , I hope you don’t think any differently of him because he tells me things. I wouldn’t want you to stop referring people to him … or using him yourself.”
    “I don’t use him myself ,” he says with a smile. “And you’re his wife. I tell Red shit all the time. When you’ve got a good woman, you trust that she’ll keep her mouth closed and vice versa. And you’re a good woman, Jasmine.” Wow, Malcolm considers me a good woman? After I just told his beloved Red off?
    “ Well, um, thanks.” I shift uncomfortably on one leg. “And I, um, don’t want you to think I’m being petty by not going to this play. I would never miss a church play out of pettiness. That wouldn’t be very Catholic of me at all. It’s just that I hate your wife.”
    “I get it.” He nods at me with a little smirk, those brown eyes of his scanning mine, seemingly trying to read what’s going on in my very mind before he drifts them away and towards the crowd. Goodness, Malcolm’s really … unnerving. I’ve known him since he was the forward on St. Bernadette’s basketball team. I’ve known him since he was walking down the hallways of school, winking at girls and trying to make eye contact with Danielle.  So why in the world am I nervous standing here next to him? I inch away from him.
    “What’s wrong?” He says to me, his eyes still focused on The Board, his voice low and steady … his cologne