underhanded. Just take a request to the board. Make sure Hosea gets paid. That’s all.”
He nodded, although his eyes were still filled with doubt.
She added, “You know if Pastor Wyatt had been appointed, he would have demanded more money.”
That was all she needed to say; she knew her godbrother couldn’t stand the associate pastor.
Malik nodded. “Okay, I’ll call Brother Hill.” She grinned, but he didn’t stop there. “Just know that this is all I’m going to do. Because now that Hosea’s the senior pastor, everything has to be on the up and up. It could get real messy if anything else came out.”
“You don’t have anything to worry about; I don’t have a single secret left.” She paused, thought about the flashbacks she’d had last week. But that was so long ago those days didn’t count.
“If that’s the case, then we’re cool.” He stood and hugged her. “I’ll check on that salary thing, and you keep me posted on how long you’ll be away.”
“I will,” she said, deciding not to tell him that if he got Hosea the right amount, she’d never come back. She had loved working at Rio—after four years, it was still one of the most happenin’ spots in lower Manhattan, often cited in Page Six, the New York Post ’s get-your-name-in-at-any-cost gossip column forthe famous and fabulous.
But as wonderful as this life had been, there was a new day awaiting.
She marched down the hall, past cubicles filled with assistants chatting on phones, offering incentives to get celebrities to come and party at Rio.
Behind her closed door, she went to work on the next phase of her plan. When the board told Hosea that he would be paid, she had to make sure he accepted it.
Reaching for the telephone, she knew just how she’d get her way.
TEN
J ASMINE HAD LEARNED A LONG time ago that a little food and a lotta love in the afternoon was her key. Even though she’d brought a light lunch, she had no doubt that within an hour or two she’d have Hosea screaming, “Yes! Yes! Yes!” to all her demands.
As the cab slowed in front of City of Lights, she straightened the red bow on the picnic basket. It had been tough trying to buy this today; how in the world had she forgotten Valentine’s Day? It must’ve been all that was going on with Reverend Bush that had her off her game.
Hosea hadn’t mentioned anything about Valentine’s Day either. Any other year, that would have been a major violation. But she had to give him a free pass—and it worked in her favor anyway. Hosea probably hadn’t shopped for a gift, and she knew exactly what she wanted.
As she stepped across the parking lot, the thought of Reverend Bush’s shooting filled her mind again. She was sure that every time Hosea took these steps, he had those thoughts. And though it had to be hard, she was still glad that he’d decided to come to the church—at least every morning. He had agreed to give up his day watch at the hospital only once they had comeup with a schedule for someone to be with his father during the day.
Today, Mrs. Whittingham had agreed to sit with Reverend Bush—which was all the better. Jasmine didn’t feel like having to deal with the old windbag right now.
As she trotted up the steps, she was pleased that she’d come up with this plan to surprise Hosea. She could imagine him sitting in his father’s office with his head bowed, heavy with memories and thoughts of his father’s fate. At least she’d bring a smile to his face, even if only for a little while.
Then laughter met her at the door. It wasn’t your lean-your-head-back-and-let-it-rip kind of guffaw. It was light, but still it was laughter. And it was definitely Hosea, but who was with him?
She tiptoed past Mrs. Whittingham’s desk and moved toward the glee. In front of Hosea’s father’s office, she stood, watching Hosea, his shoulders shaking with his chortle. And in front of him sat Ivy, giggling like a schoolgirl.
Neither one of them noticed
He nodded, although his eyes were still filled with doubt.
She added, “You know if Pastor Wyatt had been appointed, he would have demanded more money.”
That was all she needed to say; she knew her godbrother couldn’t stand the associate pastor.
Malik nodded. “Okay, I’ll call Brother Hill.” She grinned, but he didn’t stop there. “Just know that this is all I’m going to do. Because now that Hosea’s the senior pastor, everything has to be on the up and up. It could get real messy if anything else came out.”
“You don’t have anything to worry about; I don’t have a single secret left.” She paused, thought about the flashbacks she’d had last week. But that was so long ago those days didn’t count.
“If that’s the case, then we’re cool.” He stood and hugged her. “I’ll check on that salary thing, and you keep me posted on how long you’ll be away.”
“I will,” she said, deciding not to tell him that if he got Hosea the right amount, she’d never come back. She had loved working at Rio—after four years, it was still one of the most happenin’ spots in lower Manhattan, often cited in Page Six, the New York Post ’s get-your-name-in-at-any-cost gossip column forthe famous and fabulous.
But as wonderful as this life had been, there was a new day awaiting.
She marched down the hall, past cubicles filled with assistants chatting on phones, offering incentives to get celebrities to come and party at Rio.
Behind her closed door, she went to work on the next phase of her plan. When the board told Hosea that he would be paid, she had to make sure he accepted it.
Reaching for the telephone, she knew just how she’d get her way.
TEN
J ASMINE HAD LEARNED A LONG time ago that a little food and a lotta love in the afternoon was her key. Even though she’d brought a light lunch, she had no doubt that within an hour or two she’d have Hosea screaming, “Yes! Yes! Yes!” to all her demands.
As the cab slowed in front of City of Lights, she straightened the red bow on the picnic basket. It had been tough trying to buy this today; how in the world had she forgotten Valentine’s Day? It must’ve been all that was going on with Reverend Bush that had her off her game.
Hosea hadn’t mentioned anything about Valentine’s Day either. Any other year, that would have been a major violation. But she had to give him a free pass—and it worked in her favor anyway. Hosea probably hadn’t shopped for a gift, and she knew exactly what she wanted.
As she stepped across the parking lot, the thought of Reverend Bush’s shooting filled her mind again. She was sure that every time Hosea took these steps, he had those thoughts. And though it had to be hard, she was still glad that he’d decided to come to the church—at least every morning. He had agreed to give up his day watch at the hospital only once they had comeup with a schedule for someone to be with his father during the day.
Today, Mrs. Whittingham had agreed to sit with Reverend Bush—which was all the better. Jasmine didn’t feel like having to deal with the old windbag right now.
As she trotted up the steps, she was pleased that she’d come up with this plan to surprise Hosea. She could imagine him sitting in his father’s office with his head bowed, heavy with memories and thoughts of his father’s fate. At least she’d bring a smile to his face, even if only for a little while.
Then laughter met her at the door. It wasn’t your lean-your-head-back-and-let-it-rip kind of guffaw. It was light, but still it was laughter. And it was definitely Hosea, but who was with him?
She tiptoed past Mrs. Whittingham’s desk and moved toward the glee. In front of Hosea’s father’s office, she stood, watching Hosea, his shoulders shaking with his chortle. And in front of him sat Ivy, giggling like a schoolgirl.
Neither one of them noticed
Similar Books
