your business, but I’m having lunch with Hosea.”
“Really? I’m surprised he’s hungry…for anything. After the,” Natasia paused, “what should I call it…dinner we had last night.”
It took both of Jasmine’s hands to keep her cup steady. “Well, it’s a new day, and he wants to have lunch with his wife.”
Natasia grinned. “Good for you.”
“So, is everything working out for you here?” Jasmine asked in a “I hope not” tone.
“Definitely. It’s more than I could have hoped for.”
“I’m surprised you left such a high-powered position in Chicago to take a temporary gig with Bring It On.”
“Who says this is temporary?”
“I’d consider a three-month contract temporary.”
Jasmine knew she’d scored a point when Natasia’s smirk disappeared. She’d have to thank Deborah for that information.
“It’s a three-month contract for Los Angeles,” Natasia came back. “But there’s an option to continue as a consultant when the show comes back to New York.”
Now it was Jasmine who lost her smile. “You’ll be consulting from Chicago?”
“I could, but I haven’t decided yet. I’m keeping all the doors open, because New York is looking pretty wonderful right now. Especially after dinner at Tavern on the Green with Hosea, there’s more than just my career at stake.” She sauntered past Jasmine. “Think about that and then try to have a nice day.”
Her first thought was to throw the hot coffee she held right into Natasia’s face. But that would be a hard accident to explain.
Jasmine still heard Natasia’s chuckles even as she dumped the rest of her coffee into the sink. It didn’t mean anything.
Hosea had called last night and told her he had a meeting. He just didn’t say it was dinner with Natasia.
Jasmine marched toward Hosea’s office. He had some explaining to do. But as she paced, she calmed. Confronting Hosea was not the way to handle her husband. He wasn’t the problem anyway. She needed to cut out this cancer at its core.
She was just going to get rid of Natasia.
TEN
J ASMINE RUSHED THROUGH THE doors of the church where her father-in-law was the pastor and half-waved to Mrs. Whittingham. Reverend Bush’s longtime assistant barely gave Jasmine a nod.
Time couldn’t change everything. Even though she had been married to Hosea for more than two years, Jasmine knew Mrs. Whittingham still didn’t like her. Still thought that Jasmine only wanted Hosea for his money and status and power.
But Jasmine didn’t care what the silver-haired, wide-hipped biddy thought.
“Is Mae Frances in?” Jasmine asked.
“Yeah,” was all Mrs. Whittingham said, not even taking her eyes from the computer.
Jasmine headed toward the room that had been converted from a storage closet.
“It’s about time you showed up,” Mae Frances huffed.
“I’m ten minutes early.”
“Whatever. I don’t know why you couldn’t take the time to have lunch with me.”
“Because,” Jasmine began before she sat, “I’ve got to get some work done before we leave for L.A. Do you have the information?”
Mae Frances slid a folder across her desk.
Jasmine’s eyes scanned the pages. “Where did you get this?”
“Where do you think? From one of my connections.”
Scrolling through the report, Jasmine wasn’t sure whether she should be delighted or deflated. One thing was sure, she’d been right.
The dossier, with photos, was thorough—including Natasia’s family history, employment record and reviews, even awards she’d received and the fact that she had an outstanding application with AFAA, an international adoption agency that specialized in placing African children in homes around the world.
But the part that made Jasmine shudder were the pages that highlighted Natasia’s road to Bring It On. The story that Natasia concocted about being pursued by the network wasn’t close to the truth. That part wasn’t a shock. But the extent to which Natasia had courted the
“Really? I’m surprised he’s hungry…for anything. After the,” Natasia paused, “what should I call it…dinner we had last night.”
It took both of Jasmine’s hands to keep her cup steady. “Well, it’s a new day, and he wants to have lunch with his wife.”
Natasia grinned. “Good for you.”
“So, is everything working out for you here?” Jasmine asked in a “I hope not” tone.
“Definitely. It’s more than I could have hoped for.”
“I’m surprised you left such a high-powered position in Chicago to take a temporary gig with Bring It On.”
“Who says this is temporary?”
“I’d consider a three-month contract temporary.”
Jasmine knew she’d scored a point when Natasia’s smirk disappeared. She’d have to thank Deborah for that information.
“It’s a three-month contract for Los Angeles,” Natasia came back. “But there’s an option to continue as a consultant when the show comes back to New York.”
Now it was Jasmine who lost her smile. “You’ll be consulting from Chicago?”
“I could, but I haven’t decided yet. I’m keeping all the doors open, because New York is looking pretty wonderful right now. Especially after dinner at Tavern on the Green with Hosea, there’s more than just my career at stake.” She sauntered past Jasmine. “Think about that and then try to have a nice day.”
Her first thought was to throw the hot coffee she held right into Natasia’s face. But that would be a hard accident to explain.
Jasmine still heard Natasia’s chuckles even as she dumped the rest of her coffee into the sink. It didn’t mean anything.
Hosea had called last night and told her he had a meeting. He just didn’t say it was dinner with Natasia.
Jasmine marched toward Hosea’s office. He had some explaining to do. But as she paced, she calmed. Confronting Hosea was not the way to handle her husband. He wasn’t the problem anyway. She needed to cut out this cancer at its core.
She was just going to get rid of Natasia.
TEN
J ASMINE RUSHED THROUGH THE doors of the church where her father-in-law was the pastor and half-waved to Mrs. Whittingham. Reverend Bush’s longtime assistant barely gave Jasmine a nod.
Time couldn’t change everything. Even though she had been married to Hosea for more than two years, Jasmine knew Mrs. Whittingham still didn’t like her. Still thought that Jasmine only wanted Hosea for his money and status and power.
But Jasmine didn’t care what the silver-haired, wide-hipped biddy thought.
“Is Mae Frances in?” Jasmine asked.
“Yeah,” was all Mrs. Whittingham said, not even taking her eyes from the computer.
Jasmine headed toward the room that had been converted from a storage closet.
“It’s about time you showed up,” Mae Frances huffed.
“I’m ten minutes early.”
“Whatever. I don’t know why you couldn’t take the time to have lunch with me.”
“Because,” Jasmine began before she sat, “I’ve got to get some work done before we leave for L.A. Do you have the information?”
Mae Frances slid a folder across her desk.
Jasmine’s eyes scanned the pages. “Where did you get this?”
“Where do you think? From one of my connections.”
Scrolling through the report, Jasmine wasn’t sure whether she should be delighted or deflated. One thing was sure, she’d been right.
The dossier, with photos, was thorough—including Natasia’s family history, employment record and reviews, even awards she’d received and the fact that she had an outstanding application with AFAA, an international adoption agency that specialized in placing African children in homes around the world.
But the part that made Jasmine shudder were the pages that highlighted Natasia’s road to Bring It On. The story that Natasia concocted about being pursued by the network wasn’t close to the truth. That part wasn’t a shock. But the extent to which Natasia had courted the
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