Duncan (Across the Aisle Book 2) Read online

  “Trent,” Bernie warned and gave him an annoyed side look.

  The long one that meant she would not move on in the conversation until he acknowledged her look.

  “Sweetheart, I love you.” He finally landed his gaze on her. “But, my son...”

  “Our son,” she corrected him.

  “Yes, our son. He’ll need to protect himself.” He pulled her into him. “Please, understand.”

  Bernie shook her head as she looked into his eyes. Wow. They were fussing back and forth. They’d get over it. You could just tell. Love conquered all for these two, and it was evident in every way.

  Duncan was silent, with obvious apprehension. I turned to face him and found him staring at them, staring at each other. He had the same look in his eyes that I had. It was of longing and maybe even a bit of loneliness mixed in, but his face remained the same. Unbothered. It was his eyes that spoke what he desired.

  “Well, I hate to break up this little party, but I’ve got some Democrats to piss off,” I interrupted. “Duncan, it was nice to meet you. Good luck with finding that wife. I heard that can be a bitch. Have a good one.”

  Turning on my heels, I went out the back door, where I was hoping the sane people were. Lisa was perched near the pool, getting her imaginary tan. Next to her was Rich, who had his leg intertwined with hers even though her lounging chair was almost a foot away from him.

  James was lying in the sun, actually needing to tan his pasty self, but at least he was aware.

  I went to sit down next to him and stretched out close to the pool. Maybe I would take a swim later, but the first thing I planned to do was just relax next to the Olympic-sized pool. Why it was such a big pool, I did not know. But to Bernie’s credit, Trent comes from money, so it wasn’t her decision. He actually swims on a regular basis. The man is over fifty, and does not look a day over thirty. He believes it’s due to his swimming and workout regimen. In that case, I guess, it’s okay to have an Olympic-sized pool. It’s not collecting dust, and I get to work off those martinis from last weekend.

  “So, for abortion or not,” I asked James.

  “You came out here to start shit, huh?” He kept his head tilted up with dark ray bans covering his eyes.

  “That was the plan,” I shared. “Somebody has got to liven this party up.”

  “You do know this isn’t a party,” he replied.

  Oh, yeah, that’s right. It was just a social gathering that let Trent use his built-in state-of-the-art stone grill and people like me freeload and swim.

  “You’re a ball of joy,” I commented, but stared off as the words of my friend and the two crazy guys from the kitchen came back to me.

  “I came here to relax, but on Monday, I’ll debate you all day,” James replied. “Deal?”

  “I guess.” I crossed my legs right before a shadow came over me.

  My eyes squinted up, and I saw the khaki-wearing Republican standing over me. Internally, I sighed. What was this guy’s problem?

  “Look, Duncan—” I started.

  He cut me off. “I was told that maybe I came off too strong. That was not my intention. I do not want to scare you, and I want you to know that I’m acceptable.”

  This had James’ head turning our way.

  He was so serious and stern; I wasn’t sure what to make of his words. Acceptable? There had to be something I was missing because the hulking know-it-all seemed almost vulnerable.

  “I’m fine.” I felt like he needed to know that. “It’s cool.”

  His head tilted to the side slightly, then he nodded and walked off. No words or wave, just the dust from those brown loafers.

  There had to be a twilight zone around here somewhere, because, I swear, this was the weirdest encounter of my entire life.

  “What was that about?” James asked, one eyebrow raised.

  Now, the great Senator from Maryland was intrigued. I guess I should be happy I could hob-nob with the lawmakers of the country all because my friend was married to a State Senator. How many people could say they knew the famous James Klinger, State Senator, or Trent Richardson?

  “I’m not sure.” I shook my head and laid back down.

  “Yeah, I’ve heard he’s a damn genius. He won by a landslide in Rhode Island. Apparently, during the first debate, he ran down, from memory alone, how many times the former Senator lied, how much money was lost due to his decisions, and all his infidelities, without looking at cue cards, a prompter, or a person. Look it up. Most feel that he is highly capable. The Republicans think he’s a wild card because the man is honest to a fault. Maybe on the spectrum?” James had leaned in to share this information.

  Damn.

  My mouth was always getting the best of me. This was probably what Bernie was trying to say, but I completely missed this. He didn’t look any different and… damn.

  “You sound like quite a fan.” I didn’t know what else to say.

  James scoffed and said, “Yeah. It’s already hard, not only having to prove yourself on the job, but to your state and country also. Add in the fact, that he might have been diagnosed with a developmental disorder, now that’s fucking tough. You should understand what I mean. You’re a woman in a leadership position, and you’re black.”

  My eyes hit his, and though his words were true, something in me wasn’t okay with my gender and skin color being compared to a disorder; there was nothing wrong with either of them. If Duncan did have a disorder and beat all the odds, it was remarkable.

  James must have seen my face because he quickly added, “I’m not comparing the two. I’m just saying, people’s perception can be similar.”

  My head nodded as understanding hit me about his comment. Yet I couldn’t help but feel bad for my initial reaction to this guy. He seemed weird, socially awkward, and intrusive. Men don’t go around asking women to be their wife. If anything, it was usually the opposite.

  Chapter Three

  Portia

  My job as a District Manager included oversight for the Brown & Red Boutique stores around the District of Columbia, Maryland, and Virginia (DMV) areas. Shopping was always something I wanted to do and frequently indulged in as a form of therapy. Therefore, I took it seriously when stores were not conducive to a therapeutic environment. Associates should be warm, welcoming, and helpful, not combative, ghetto, or lazy.

  I was at the Greenbelt boutique because the company received an anonymous tip about the store manager, Stephanie Stevens. She and I worked at the same store for almost a year before she transferred to the Maryland campus, which was years ago. When we worked together, we had a manager who was an asshole, and Stephanie was not having any of that. I remember her saying she was leaving because she didn’t have to take his shit.

  Oddly enough, that same manager was fired six months later because, apparently, he was stealing clothes and selling them online. This change in leadership put me in a direct line to become the new manager. Stephanie would have received the promotion had she not left. Ever since she found out about my promotion, she has had a chip on her shoulder toward me. Therefore, this notion of addressing the tip is going to be even more awkward. My visitations can be very clinical, but this…well, this is not going to be any different.

  The tip said that she was excessively late, the workers were being mistreated, and the woman was doing things that made others question the company’s ethics. One of the complaints had already proven to be true because the store opened at eight o’clock, but two of her employees and I were outside waiting. It was eight twenty-three. They all had their eyebrows up and wouldn’t say a peep. I didn’t plan to ask them anything until we did a formal investigation, and at eight-forty-five, I decided one needed to be done.

  Managing people, specifically adults, was the most challenging work I have ever experienced. It was not easy, and I swear people would revert to child-like behavior when challenged.

  Stephanie appeared, with sunglasses on, taking her sweet time. She was apologizing to them,
until she saw me. Immediately, she opened the gate, then the door, to allow them inside. They went off, so they could get prepped for the day. I hung back and let them clock in, check the schedule, and do the counts for each drawer.

  Then I sat in her office and waited for her to quit stalling on the floor. Eventually, when she saw I wasn’t leaving, she came into the office, plopped down in her chair and said, “I already know what you’re going to say. So, let’s get on with it.”

  I guess that’s the type of time we were on.

  “What am I going to say?” I asked, vowing to remain calm.

  “Portia, really. I know you’re a district manager now, but let’s cut the shit. I was late, and you’re going to give me a speech about how I need not to be late when I work the opening shift. It was a late night. Okay.”

  “Ahh.” I nodded. “I see how you could think I was going to say that, but no. I’m going to do one better. I’m going to remind you about how George treated us at Store 451, and how you hauled tail out of there. So imagine my surprise when I hear you were doing the same thing to your employees and customers here. I told them, ‘No, not Stephanie because she and I experienced the George-ster.’ We knew all too well that we didn’t like it, and as a matter of fact, you transferred as a result. And check this, it wasn’t even an employee, but multiple customers who called the neglect into the central office. Which means it was that bad!” I practically hissed at her. My head shook for dramatics, and I repeated, “It couldn’t be the Stephanie I know.”

  She had enough shame to put her head down, then she sighed heavily and cursed.

  “It’s not fucking fair,” she almost whispered.

  “What?” I asked. So she could say it louder.

  “You.” Her head jerked up as she pinned me with a scornful look. “I practically trained you, brought you up, and now you’re coaching me. It’s not fucking fair. These fucked-up excuses for employees grate on my damn nerves with their asinine questions and stupid mistakes. I must train imbeciles. I don’t want to train no-fucking-body else. Because this is what happens.”

  Stephanie jerked her hand at me. “This right here,” she scoffed. “I get a speech by someone that was beneath me.”

  Well, I knew the woman had issues with me, but I didn’t know they ran that deep. So much so that she decided to be an asshole to everyone.

  Wow.

  “Actually, I didn’t come to give you a speech.” I pulled out the envelope in my shoulder bag. “I came to give you your letter of reprimand. You have the right to petition this with the union, but as of now, you are relieved of your duties until further notice.”

  Her mouth looked exactly like the exaggerated cartoon version of a character in utter shock.

  “Are you serious?” she hissed.

  “Very.” I leveled my eyes on her. “Your behavior at this store will not be tolerated and this is the beginning of your probation. Leave quietly, and you may be able to salvage the good part of your reputation.”

  “I can’t believe you. After all I’ve done for you, you ungrateful bitch,” she snapped. “I am the reason that you are a fucking district manager. If it wasn’t for me, there’d be no you. I showed you the damn ropes. I—”

  “Left,” I hissed back at her. “You left because you couldn’t hack it, and the opportunity came my way and I walked into my blessing. I love what I do. So, the only thing you did, Stephanie, was leave. Now, it’s time for you to leave again.”

  Fire emerged from her eyes as she glared at me while snatching up her purse, jacket, and sunglasses. As she made her way past me, her shoulder bumped me, hard, but I held my ground, making a mental note to ensure she got fired. Not just a reprimand. The union would fight me on it, but the physical aggression was a no-no. She was lucky. I am officially on the job, in my suit and all, as professional as I could be. In a different atmosphere, she might have received a different response.

  “You’ll get yours,” she murmured as she slammed the office door. “Watch.”

  I made a mental note to add that threat to the write-up. The investigation had already been done, but I was called in to do the follow--up. Stephanie was a good story gone bad.

  She was a great employee, made manager after a while, but the damn woman was losing her shit every damn day and cameras were all over the store. She of all people, after George, should have known that corporate would pull tapes if they needed to. Leaving her with very little defense as she berated staff and customers.

  The corporate offices would not have that, and no union lawyer could justify it, except to say she had a disability she had not disclosed to us.

  After logging in, changing passwords, and revoking her access on the local computer, I set up a new administrator. Corporate had already disabled her virtual accounts, but the local change was necessary. I emptied the safe and called in the assistant manager, Sara.

  We talked for a bit while I shared that Stephanie would no longer be the manager and, effective immediately, she would be the interim manager until further notice. The woman cried and thanked God and me at the same time. I got that, because when they had gotten rid of George, I almost did a happy dance.

  Once things were settled, the trainer would come in and get everything set up for the store. I would visit it weekly, and they would be back in full swing of things. The sales were down last quarter, but after some rebranding and targeted marketing, they would bounce back.

  As I was leaving the store and texting on my phone, I bumped into something hard.

  “Ouch,” I yelped, as I looked up and saw those green eyes. “Du-Duncan?”

  “Portia,” he replied with a sober expression. “It is good to see you.”

  His voice was measured and even, giving nothing away, and if I didn’t know that he was different, I would have assumed he was bored.

  “Yeah,” I replied. “This is a women’s boutique store. What are you doing here?”

  He gave me that same sideways look he had on Saturday, like he was assessing me, before he answered, “I’m buying something for a lady friend. She’s smart, pretty, and black. Like you.”

  Wait. What?

  I blinked once, then twice for good measure.

  “I’m sorry, what?” I clarified.

  He repeated with the same octave of the first statement.

  “She’s smart, pretty, and black. Like you.”

  “Great.” I nodded, but ignored the lash to my ego.

  “So. This past Saturday, you wanted to marry me and now…” I glanced at my smartwatch and continued, “Monday afternoon, and you’re already moving on to the next woman. You’re quick. Did she say yes to your proposal?” I asked, hiding behind my sarcasm.

  It would be a lie to think I hadn’t thought of the weird man. The newly-elected Rhode Island Senator was handsome as all get out and legit looking for a wife.

  “I haven’t asked anyone but you,” he clarified, as if he had not planned to ask anyone else.

  This entire conversation was growing weirder.

  “Right, well.” I nodded. “Good luck. This is a great store.”

  I turned to walk out the door, but his stern voice pulled me back.

  “Portia,” he called. “You’re a fashionable woman. You can pick something out.”

  It wasn’t a question, but a statement. For good measure and to confirm my initial thought, he turned and walked into the store as if it was already determined that I would follow. I honestly stood there for a bit and looked around the store to see if anyone had noticed the crazy, properly dressed, gorgeous man, telling me what to do.

  That would be a negative. There was nobody I could share a scoff with, or point at him like he was nuts and walk out the door. Nope. Just me. Standing in the doorway blocking traffic. Staring. Trying not to smile at the arrogance.

  So I turned and followed the man. I had already been there most of the day, what were another thirty minutes. Who was I kidding?

  Two hours and thirty minutes. Apparently, I was the
same height and weight of this woman, whose name he wouldn’t share. Any time I asked him what her style was, he answered, “similar to yours.”

  “What’s the occasion?” I inquired.

  “I want to get her a gift. She aided me when I needed her during my campaign, and I was told it would be best to get her a gift.”

  “I see.” I pulled a wrap-dress off the rack that I had been eyeing. It was the newest of the collection and would look great with my new heels. “I like this one.”

  “Try it on?” he told me.

  I stared at him to see if he was flirting or trying to, but I got nothing. “Sure.” I nodded and escaped to the dressing room.

  A few moments later, I walked out with the beautiful dress on, fitting in all the right places with a little cleavage showing. Oddly enough, I was eagerly excited to show it off to Duncan.

  When I emerged, he was staring out toward the street, with his back to me. I cleared my throat to get his attention. The man’s head jerked around to view me, then he froze.

  “No.” He shook his head firmly. “No.”

  “What?” I exclaimed.

  “No, this won’t do,” his voice elevated.

  I turned around to view myself in the mirror. It looked amazing. It was as if it was designed just for me. With a lot of confusion, I slowly turned around and asked, “What’s wrong with it?”

  Instead of answering me, he turned on his heel and walked out of the dressing area without saying a word.

  Fucking rude.

  With a shake of my head, I turned away, went back in the dressing room, took off the dress, and made my exit. Just as I was about to leave the building. I heard my name.

  I turned to see him standing to the side of the store, looking like a handsome asshole.

  “Where are you going?” he asked. “We’re not done.”

  “I am. You seem to know what you want.” Then I left.

  That’s what I get for trying to do a favor.

  The visceral way he viewed me in that dress gave me pause. I thought it looked fine, but was I off?