Jaded Read Free Page B

the papers—had bedded at least three other men during that time, they had written scathing articles that eventually drove her from the city.
    Never had Jade questioned the conclusive negative results of the paternity test. But the notion that he could have been a possibility had left an acrid taste in her mouth.
    And now Millie.
    Jade walked into Rodney’s closet, decorated with a slate-gray carpet and custom-built walnut shelves. An island of drawers topped with granite stood in the middle of the room, flanked by a cushioned bench. The pristine closet smelled like fresh cedar. Jade reached above her head and began peeling suits from their wooden hangers, dropping them in a pile to the floor as though preparing for a bonfire.
    The way you keep calling this your home . . .
    Dolce & Gabbana. Into the pile.
    Gucci. Prada. Into the pile.
    She opened drawers and removed cashmere sweaters and designer jeans. Carefully at first and then wildly she rummaged through Rodney’s clothing. After several minutes of random grabbing, she stood huffing and sweating in the middle of the pile at her feet.
    When she had caught her breath, Jade dug through her purse for her cell.
    “Yeah?” Maria answered.
    “I need you to get back over here as soon as possible.”
    “What happened?”
    “Nothing yet.” Jade surveyed the pile of clothes on the floor. “And make sure you bring trash bags if we don’t already have some in the house.”
    “You want me to come back over to take out the trash?”
    “I called you to help me make an immediate donation to charity.” The image of Rodney screwing Millie in the back of the limousine popped into her head. Jade believed him when he said Millie wasn’t his type, but since when did that stop a man? It’s a short journey from the back of a limo to the master suite of a penthouse , Jade thought.
    “I’ll deal with the trash myself.”
     
    ***

Chapter 3
     
    “Crouching Tiger, please.”
    Today Syeesha was meeting her sister for an early lunch so she could tell her she’d just become another statistic. The strong drink would make the admission easier. Just in case Syeesha’s nerves went the same direction as her job, she was careful to dress in an unassuming black V-neck sweater and black slacks. Comfortable enough for the unemployed, yet professional enough to project a working-girl image.
    The day Syeesha left Clarke, she had gone directly to an employment agency. Every seat had been occupied by well-dressed applicants who had had the advantage of having current résumés in their hands and appointments on the schedule. Syeesha had turned back home with the intent of planning her next move. Instead, she had found herself snuggled beneath her warm fleece blanket, watching an all-day marathon of The Apprentice. Each time Donald Trump had barked his catchphrase, “You’re fired!” tears had dripped into Syeesha’s never-ending bowl of Bridge Mix.
    Now Syeesha watched as the bartender poured blue agave silver tequila and SOHO Lychee liqueur into a shot glass. He placed a napkin and the drink in front of her.
    “You’re a doll for pretending this is as normal as pouring a glass of orange juice for breakfast.”
    He grinned and it was as though a mask had slid from his face, inviting warmth.
    “You’re looking at a guy who’s served four rounds of Jack at seven in the morning.” He shrugged. “Life’s tough. Sometimes we need a little more octane to keep us running on all cylinders.”
    She had never envisioned herself as the type of woman who sits at a grungy bar and regurgitates her woes to a stranger who plies her with booze while he keeps a tab. But at least this wasn’t a dive; it was a chic Thai restaurant that her sister had chosen. Trina Green wouldn’t step one polished Ferragamo in a smoke-filled hovel.
    “I hope I have enough octane to get another job soon or I’ll be in big trouble,” Syeesha said.
    “You quit?”
    “Laid off.”
    “Ah. I’ve seen quite a bit of