“For the last time.” Ebony clicked off the intercom. She moved over to the window and drew open the blinds. From where she was standing, it looked like colorful ants were shuffling down Eighth Avenue. Setting up the Discreet Boutiques headquarters in the Accenture Tower had been the best decision she and Kendall had ever made. The rent far exceeded what they had planned to spend, but on days like this—when Ebony needed tranquility and a moment’s peace—the location was worth every cent. Her eyes tracked the sun as it dropped behind the clouds and then faded out of sight. Wrapped up in her observations, she didn’t hear the knock on her office door.
“Daydreaming about frolicking on the beaches of Negril again?”
Ebony moaned. This time last year she had been sipping fruity Caribbean cocktails at Beaches Negril Resort, dancing with men of every shade of brown and a few in between and sleeping in hammocks under the shade of overgrown palm trees.
All business in a tweed suit, a few pieces of expensive-looking jewelry and her wavy hair pulled back in a neat bun, Kendall Douglas radiated cool sophistication. The co-owner of Discreet Boutiques sat down on one of the navy-blue padded chairs, crossed her legs and clasped her hands together.
“You’d be daydreaming too if you’d had Caribbean men catering to your every whim.” Ebony returned to her desk. Once she was settled in her leather chair, she asked, “So, how did the meeting go? Did Yolanda heed your advice, or do we have to fire her?”
Kendall smoothed a hand over hair, taking a few minutes to gauge her partner’s mood. “I got through to her, Ebony. Don’t worry.”
“Don’t tell me not to worry, Kendall. Her unprofessional behavior and complete disregard for the company have caused lost revenue and dissatisfaction among our employees and valued customers.” Yolanda Simmons, the store manager for boutique number six, had been showing up late to work, helping herself to unauthorized days off and delegating her duties to other employees for the past month. Yesterday, when Ebony had learned about what was going on, her first inclination had been to fire Yolanda immediately, but Kendall wouldn’t hear of it. Her partner liked the single mother and thought she was an asset to the company. She had promised Ebony she would meet with Yolanda as soon as possible and get to the bottom of things.
“Yolanda knows she has a good thing going with Discreet Boutiques and that she’d be a fool to mess it up. Her next raise increase is set for August 1 and I know for a fact she’s been eyeing Bridget’s position. I told her only serious and committed employees would be considered for the Human Resources post when Bridget goes on maternity leave. I told Yolanda she had two options—either clean up her act or start looking for another job.”
Ebony raised an eyebrow. “You said that?”
Kendall nodded.
“What was her response? Was she open to what you had to say?”
“The poor thing burst into tears.” Glancing down at her blazer, Kendall brushed aside specks of lint. “Cried all over me. She confided that her live-in boyfriend has been messing around, and she suspects he may have gotten another girl pregnant. You know what the crazy thing is?”
Ebony shrugged a shoulder. “No.”
“She doesn’t want to leave him! I could sympathize with her because God knows I dated my fair share of losers before I married Turner, but I never, ever allowed personal problems to impede my work.”
Ebony shook her head sharply. Happily unmarried, she enjoyed a rich life, a life more enjoyable and fulfilling than her married counterparts’. No drama. No stress. And most importantly, no heartache. “All relationships start off smelling like roses, and end up reeking like sour milk. When a diamond ring slips on a woman’s finger, she becomes a bodyguard, a private investigator, a—”
“Huh?” a completely baffled Kendall asked. “What are you talking about?”
“I’ve seen it happen a million times before. Confident, self-assured, intelligent women will follow their men around like a Doberman, just to make sure other women don’t get too close. They’ll take a day off work to investigate whether his business conference at a five-star hotel is a company meeting, or a personal one.” Ebony added, “I like my life the way it is. Uncomplicated, stress-free and all the freedom I can stand.”
“You’re going to be thirty this year, Ebony. In two short months to be exact. You’re not a teenager anymore. It’s time you found yourself a man, settled down and started working on having a litter of your own.” Kendall chuckled at her joke. She sobered long enough to say, “You can pretend to be happy, but I know you’re miserable sleeping in that big ole house by yourself. Just admit it!”
“Girl, please,” Ebony scoffed, her mouth fitting into a smirk. “I’m as happy as a dolphin at Sea World!”
After the security alarm was disabled, Ebony shut the door behind her and kicked off her four-inch heels. There was nothing she loved more than returning home after a grueling day of work. She lived on a quiet street with other impressive homes in Linden Hills, a first tier suburb ten miles southwest of downtown Minneapolis. In the winter, the normally short commute was a killer, but Ebony didn’t mind. The privacy and solace that came with living in a respected and valued community outweighed all inconveniences.
Charmed by the elegance of the four-bedroom, three-bathroom home, Ebony had fallen in love with it on sight. It had all the features and amenities she had been searching for: lofty, ten-foot ceilings; colossal picture windows; hardwood maple floors; and a small pool with an adjoining hot tub. Ebony loved the warmth and the light of the sun, and the surplus of oversize windows guaranteed daily doses of sunshine.
Ebony had listened with half an ear, as the rail-thin Realtor lectured about the history of the house, the most recent renovations and the previous owners. After a brief walk-through, she had concluded that this was the house of her dreams. It was four thousand square feet of paradise and she was willing to do anything to call it home.
“A single woman could go mad in a place of this size and magnitude,” the Realtor had teased. Ignoring him, she had strolled through the French doors and into the tree-shaded backyard. It was the size of a tiny forest. The Realtor chatted on, and was so unenthusiastic about her buying the Tudor-style house, Ebony started to think he had other clients lined up for it. Making note of his pessimism and mentally slashing his commission, Ebony ordered him to put her offer in. This was the house she wanted, and no one was going to dampen her enthusiasm. By the close of the month she had finalized the deal and moved in five weeks later.
Dragging herself up the stairs, she stripped off clothes as she went. The master bedroom was the size of the apartment Ebony had lived in when she was a freshman in college. The light, open bedroom was an explosion of bright colors. Fuchsia bedding. A maroon area rug. Flower vases overflowing with every color of roses imaginable. The room was boldly decorated, ultrafeminine and perfectly Ebony. A full bathroom, completely outfitted in white; an enormous walk-in-closet; and a balcony wide enough for lounge chairs and a dainty glass table were her favorite aspects of the opulent master bedroom.
Not wanting her sanctuary to be muddled, Ebony had selected a few choice pieces from an antique furniture store. A mahogany dresser, a steel vanity table, an iron-rimmed chair and a pair of glass nightstands framed her elevated sleigh bed. In the adjoining office, alabaster walls were adorned with African art purchased in Manhattan at the legendary Abuja Art Gallery. Her favorite painting was positioned beside the elliptical mirror, and at the peak of day, sunshine bounced off its golden frame and reflected off the opposite wall. A shapely Nigerian woman in traditional dress,
