her high-school sweetheart today. It was a beautiful wedding, making it hard not to wonder if I’ll ever have one of my own. I have not been able to have a relationship any longer than six or seven months. As I get older, I find that I’m able to detect the lies much quicker.
If I am to be completely honest, then I must admit that part of the reason I haven’t found my Mr. Right is because I treated him horribly when we were in college.
Right before graduation, I overheard some boys saying that Micah was planning on having sex with me and that he was going to play the “you’re the love of my life” card because that’s what it would take to get me into bed.
I don’t know why I believed them, but graduation night, when he told me that he loved me, I told him that I would never date a man like him and basically that he wasn’t good enough for me. It wasn’t until much later that I realized Micah didn’t say those things—the guys had been joking around and knew that I was listening to the conversation.
I want to explain but Micah never returned my phone calls, and the next thing I knew he had moved to Los Angeles.
Our ten-year college reunion and homecoming is coming up in October, but I’m not sure if Micah will be coming. I hope that he will be in attendance…. I want to try and talk to him one more time.
He is a famous record mogul now, but I don’t care about that. I just want a chance to apologize to Micah. The tabloids have him romantically involved with that model Sunni, so it is not as if he is available anyway. The truth is that I really miss his friendship.
I miss him.
Los Angeles, California
Micah Ross stepped out of the sleek black limo in the midst of a sea of hungry media photographers and reporters. He focused his attention on the door of the Wilshire Grand Hotel several yards away while assisting his date out of the car.
He hated all the attention on him, but Micah knew that it was an integral part of his business. He was the man who had turned a tiny music store into million-dollar record label Ross Red. His first two records sold a combined 1.5 million copies before the mainstream music industry knew he existed. Now his $500 million empire included music, clothes, real estate, a product line of computers and communications.
A musician himself, Micah believed that one could only go so far in the music business—something he tried to drill into all of his artists. He pushed to get them to understand that they needed to acquire the necessary skills and education to have other options because one never knew what was going to go up and what would go down.
“Over here, Mr. Ross,” a photographer shouted.
Micah glanced in his direction and pasted on a smile. His mouth tightened as Sunni, a supermodel, wrapped her arms around him as cameras flashed all around them.
“Micah, please smile,” she whispered. “At least try to look like you’re enjoying my company.”
He chuckled. “Sunni, you know that I always enjoy hanging out with you.”
“Then smile. Just remember that you’re the man they all want to be. You are one of the most influential and wealthiest men in the world, Micah. Baby, you should flaunt it.”
All Micah wanted to do was get inside the hotel. He hated walking the red carpet and avoided it whenever he could. Of course, in his business one needed the media to be successful.
Grinning, Sunni posed for more photos along the red carpet. She loved the spotlight so much so that it was rumored she called or texted photographers her itinerary from time to time.
Once inside, they were still under the microscope as members of the media scoured the Pacific Ballroom in search of the Hollywood elite and other VIPs attending the charity benefit for the Sickle Cell Disease Association.
Micah sat at a table surrounded by people from his artists and repertoire (A&R), publicity and product development departments.
They dined on a three-course meal: baby leaf lettuce with marinated artichoke hearts and wedged Roma tomatoes and Dijon vinaigrette, breast of Mediterranean chicken served with sautéed artichokes, goat cheese mashed potatoes and herbed Italian vegetables, mascarpone caramel cake for dessert.
One of the groups from his label walked on stage to perform.
“Eden sounds great tonight,” Sunni stated as she sliced off a piece of chicken and stuck it into his mouth.
Micah wiped his mouth with the edge of his napkin. “Yeah, she does,” he agreed, silently wishing that he could’ve stayed home tonight.
He stood up and smiled politely when his generous donation was acknowledged along with a long thundering applause.
Sunni reached over and took his hand. “I still can’t believe how shy you are when it comes to stuff like this. Honey, you are one of the good guys,” she stated. “You should be walking around here with your head up high.”
He gave her a narrowed glinting glance. “You know how I feel about being in the public eye, Sunni. I don’t like being under a microscope.”
“You’re the CEO of a huge conglomerate, Micah,” she responded, rising finely arched eyebrows. “You’d better get used to this because it’s not going to go away.”
Sunni took a sip of her hot tea.
Thirty minutes later, they left the ballroom. He had put in an appearance so as far as Micah was concerned, his work was done. He had a long day ahead of him and wanted to get some rest.
Micah escorted Sunni out of the hotel.
The driver brought their limo around, promptly stepped out and walked around to open the door.
“Micah, why don’t we go back to your place?” she suggested with a seductive sparkle in her eye. “I’m not ready for the evening to end.” She wound her arms inside his jacket and around his back.
Micah gave her a polite smile and resisted the urge to pull away. He knew Sunni wanted the media to photograph them in an embrace. She enjoyed being featured in gossip magazines and felt it enhanced her career.
“Sunni, it’s late and I have a busy day tomorrow. I don’t have any plans this weekend—maybe we can do something then.”
“I’d love it. I haven’t seen much of you lately.”
He kissed her gently on the cheek. “We’ll do something special then.”
Sunni pulled him closer to her. “C’mere, I want a real kiss.”
“I don’t put on shows for the media,” Micah stated. “You know that.”
He ushered Sunni quickly into the car as paparazzi appeared out of nowhere, snapping pictures of them.
“How long have the two of you been dating, Micah?” someone shouted.
“Are you and Sunni thinking about marriage?” another yelled. “C’mon, give us the scoop.”
Micah held up his hands in mock resignation. “I’m afraid there’s nothing to tell. Have a good evening, everyone.”
