Monte’s attention. He stepped into the elevator, pressed the button marked twenty-seven and became engrossed in the paper again. Absorbed in the highlights of the Nets’ latest Cinderella victory, Monte didn’t look up as another passenger entered the elevator just before the doors closed. The car began its smooth ascent and Monte’s senses were suddenly assailed by the faint yet sweet scent of lilies. His eyes followed his nose and they led him to slender feet clad in six-inch stilettos, up stockingless, shapely brown calves to a stunning black skirt that stopped midthigh and hugged sinfully curvaceous hips.
Monte swallowed as his eyes continued their journey, taking their sweet time. The torso of this magnificent vision was held securely by a black suit jacket and its top button stopped at a bustline that begged for attention. Above a pearl-necklace-adorned graceful neck was the face of an angel. Hazel eyes met Monte’s, and he was at once embarrassed at his voyeurism and enthralled by her beauty.
Monte opened his mouth to speak, but before he could command control over his vocabulary, the elevator came to a halt and, with a chime, the doors opened. The alluring woman exited, without as much as another glance at Monte, who remained dumbfounded and immobile.
Monte had always prided himself on being a man who was not easily moved by a pretty face and, had she been just that, Monte probably would not have given her more than an appreciative nod. Yet, there was more to the woman than just physical beauty. There was an ethereal essence that seeped from the inside out, and a presence that had captivated him. He could only liken the experience to being caught in a spider’s web, hopelessly entangled in the strong fiber. It was not until the doors closed again and the elevator continued its ascent that he came to his senses and realized that the floor the woman had exited on was also his floor, the twenty-seventh. He quickly depressed a button for one of the higher floors, exited and caught another car headed down.
“Who was that woman who just got off of the elevator?” Monte asked the receptionist when he’d landed at the office space of Cooper & Beardsley. The entertainment-law firm had been home to Monte for the past six years and he’d been a senior associate for the past two.
Monte’s immediate investigation uncovered that the beautiful woman he’d been ogling in the elevator was one of his firm’s newest clients, Torie Turner, a model turned actress whose career was, by all accounts, poised to take off. After spending years as a print model, she’d decided to take her career to the next level, building an impressive résumé along the way. Over the past few years she’d done a number of small theater productions, a few commercials and had recently completed the pilot episode for a new television series. Like many new-millennium actors, Torie had opted to replace the services of an agent at fifteen to twenty percent with an entertainment-law firm offering headhunting, contract negotiations and other legal services at a lower cost per diem. Torie Turner was as smart as she was beautiful, and after careful consideration, she’d hired the Cooper & Beardsley firm, with junior associate Monica Schwartz as the lead attorney, to review the contracts and offers that were beginning to come her way.
Monte knew instantly that he’d never had the pleasure of seeing any of Torie’s work because, if he had, he doubted seriously he would have ever been able to get her out of his head. Distracted, and uncharacteristically nervous, Monte kept one eye on his work all morning and the other on the closed door of the conference room where Torie’s meeting was taking place. His plan was to spring into action the moment the door opened and casually saunter in her direction. He hadn’t figured out what he would say to her, but hoped the words would come to him when needed.
The persistent flutters in Monte’s gut kept him on edge. He felt abnormal and quite unlike himself, as if he were having an out-of-body experience. While Monte had never considered himself a ladies’ man in any sense of the term, in his youth he’d never had a problem in that department. At thirty-five years old, Monte had successfully become what is commonly referred to as an IBM. This ideal black man had worked hard to establish security in his career, become financially fit and was also well traveled. Intellectually stimulating, good-natured and articulate were adjectives to which he was well suited. Finally, Monte’s six feet three inches of velvet black skin and well-maintained physique made him the complete package. Monte had yet to meet the person, male or female, with whom he could not hold his own on any level, which was why he was completely thrown for a loop that this Torie Turner might actually be that person who made him feel less than self-assured, and he steadied himself to dispel that possibility at the first chance he got.
However, when the door finally opened and Monte spotted Torie from his vantage point across the corridor, he continued to sit immobile. His mind raced as he tried to force himself into motion, but his nerves held him captive. Deflated, Monte realized that it had been years—seven to be exact—since he had approached a woman to whom he felt an attraction. His late wife, Shawna, was the last woman he’d ever made an advance on or struck up a casual conversation with regarding anything on a personal level, and Monte realized that he was sorely out of practice. To make matters worse, he felt like an idiot as he sat watching her disappear down the corridor with pretty-boy Matthew Sampson trotting alongside of her and beaming that twenty-thousand-dollar cash-and-carry smile of his. Monte resolved that perhaps it wasn’t meant to be, acknowledging that he would have felt even more idiotic if he had approached her in front of Matthew and the entire office of his colleagues and found himself tongue-tied. Worse, he might have said something foolish, prompting her to laugh in his face.
Monte cast off his designs on the opulent woman, chiding himself for even considering approaching her. He had a full life, he reminded himself. With the care of his two young sons and his ailing mother as his number-one priorities, along with building a secure and successful career, Monte felt he didn’t have time for any distractions. Besides, he reasoned, what right had he to ask for more?
Irritated and disappointed, Monte plowed through the rest of his day, determined to forget about Torie Turner. It proved to be a feat next to impossible.
Chapter 2
You Can’t Have It All
“Mama, I already told you that I’m done with the commercials and, for now at least, the stage. I’m concentrating on television and movie scripts, period. Why can’t you get that?”
Torie stabbed at a piece of lettuce in the Cobb salad in front of her and glared at her mother. It was just after two o’clock in the afternoon and the two women were seated inside of Braserie, a French restaurant in midtown, having a late lunch.
“Torie, I just don’t want to see you put all of your eggs in one basket,” Brenda replied.
“Mama, if I want to be successful at this, I have to focus on one thing. I can’t commit to a theater production and still go out on casting calls.”
“But, Torie, you read all the time about how limited the roles are for black actresses in movies. I mean, honey, you have to face the fact that there are a lot of talented, pretty girls out there trying to land that next big movie.”
Torie took a deep breath. Dealing with her mother had always been a trial. No matter what Torie felt or wanted, it seemed to her as if her mother’s sole purpose in life was to feel or want something different for her. For all of her childhood and much of her young adult life, Torie had acquiesced to her mother’s wishes, but no more. Torie had moved to New York from Atlanta with two purposes in mind—one, to establish her career, and two, to put some distance between her life and her mother’s controlling habits.
“Mama, can’t we just enjoy lunch…enjoy your visit and not get into this again? Just trust me for a change. I know what I’m doing, and besides, if it doesn’t work out, I can always get another commercial or play,” Torie said, looking at her mother imploringly.
Brenda Turner considered
