Too Little, Too Late by Victoria Christopher Murray Page A

execs made Jasmine know for sure that this woman was trouble. She’d called for meeting after meeting, week after week, writing proposals and giving presentations on how she could take the show to the top. It wasn’t until her agent insinuated to the network that she might not renew her contract that the relentless pursuit paid off.
    “That Natasia Redding sure is a beauty,” Mae Frances said.
    Jasmine’s stomach churned. “Thanks for sharing,” she said, not raising her eyes.
    Mae Frances folded her hands. “Are you going to tell me now what’s going on?”
    Jasmine started to speak, but then paused when she looked up. What a difference two years—and salvation—made. Here Mae Frances sat with her own office inside a church. A place where Mae Frances used to say only hypocrites resided.
    She was never quite sure what Mae Frances did here at City of Lights. Special projects, was what Reverend Bush called it. Apparently, Mae Frances did research for his publishing ventures. Her current assignment: to examine how God used women in the Bible.
    No matter what Reverend Bush said, Jasmine knew this was a trumped-up job, designed to keep Mae Frances in church and reading the Bible. Because of the reverend’s example, Mae Frances had a new heart. She glowed, she smiled. She laughed, she loved. Mae Frances had been changed.
    “Answer me!” Mae Frances growled. “Tell me about this woman!”
    Jasmine shook her head. There were a few things not even salvation could fix.
    She told Mae Frances the story of Natasia. “She’s after Hosea,” she said finally. “And this,” she held up the papers, “proves it.”
    Mae Frances waved her hand in the air. “Please, Preacher Man ain’t going nowhere.”
    “I told you, they were engaged.”
    “So? He married the woman he loved. And Lord knows there ain’t many men capable of love.” She leaned closer to Jasmine, her face and voice softer. “Preacher Man’s the real deal. And his daddy is too.”
    Jasmine tilted her head. “Mae Frances, you got a thing for Reverend Bush?”
    “Oh, please. That man ain’t nothing but a kid. I’m old enough to be his…” she patted her hair, “older sister. Any way, I’m not interested in that man. I’m only sayin’ that Preacher Man comes from good stock. He couldn’t care less about that model-looking toothpick.”
    Her description of Natasia didn’t make Jasmine feel better. Made her think even more about the twenty or so extra pounds she carried since she’d given birth.
    “If Natasia means nothing to Hosea, why didn’t he ever mention her?”
    “For the same reason you never mentioned your ex to him. Forget about that woman.”
    “I can’t because I know her.”
    Mae Frances frowned. “From where?”
    “From my past. I was Natasia. When I went after a man, I got him. And a wife was no deterrent for me. In fact, I think sometimes a man being married made it more satisfying when I got him. Believe me, I recognize the game,” she said, her concern apparent. “And you have to be a little bit crazy to play it. That makes her even more dangerous.”
    Mae Frances nodded slowly. She stood, walked across the carpeted office, and locked her door. Then she looked back into the eyes of the woman she loved like a daughter. “Do you want me to take care of her?” she whispered.
    Knowing exactly what she meant, Jasmine’s eyes widened. Here they were, sitting in the church, surrounded by shelves overflowing with Bibles. Here Mae Frances stood, with her new heart, suggesting old remedies. Here Jasmine sat, considering it.
    Jasmine’s ringing cell phone stopped the conversation. She flipped it open. “Mrs. Sloss, is everything okay?”
    “Oh, yes, Ms. Jasmine. Jacqueline’s fine, but I have some bad news. I won’t be able to go with you and Mr. Bush to Los Angeles. My daughter just called.” Mrs. Sloss sniffed. “She found a lump. It’s cancer. And I can’t leave my family right now.”
    “I’m so