Karris

I suck in a quiet breath, then climb the stairs to the covered porch of Ward Hughes’s picturesque house. The tan brick colonial with black shutters is nestled on a quiet cul-de-sac a stone’s throw from Chastain Park. I count to ten in my head, then I ring the doorbell. Part of me hopes Ward isn’t home.

I run my fingers over the bumpy rainbow leather of my Anima Iris bag, then slide it onto the crook of my elbow. There’s complete silence.

Should I ring the bell again?

Or maybe I should use the opulent knocker mounted on the elegant, gleaming black door.

Ward might not be expecting me, but his older sister, Wanda, is well aware of my visit. She’s the one who insisted I arrive promptly at a quarter to two because that’s when Ward usually takes a break from working in his home studio to eat lunch.

When I ring the doorbell again, footsteps approach.

Wanda Hughes swings the front door open, and the scent of savory meat and fruit-filled baked goods swirls around her. Her dark eyes dance, and her light-brown skin glows.

“Karris! It’s so good to see you.” Wanda hugs me tight. “Ward’s coming down now. Good luck,” she whispers in my ear, then adds loudly for Ward’s benefit, “What brings you here? Is everything okay with Deena, Calvin, and the kids?”

“Everyone is great.” I follow the woman’s lead. “I was just hoping to have a quick chat with Ward. Is he available?”

“Depends on who’s asking.” Ward makes his way down the curvy, elegant staircase. He shoves his hands into the pockets of his gray pants, seeming neither surprised nor pleased to see me standing in his doorway.

Wardell Hughes had best been described as “cute” when we attended Peachtree School of the Arts together. But now… the man is breathtakingly handsome. Way too good-looking to be considered a snack. He’s a four-course meal, a bottle of Ace of Spades, and a slice of grandma’s peach cobbler all rolled into one.

Ward has been featured on the covers of a handful of music and lifestyle magazines looking hot enough to set the glossy pages on fire. But the truth is, he’s even more striking in person.

“I’ve got this, sis.” Ward saunters toward the open front door, his expression unreadable as his dark eyes lock with mine like a tractor beam on the Star Ship Enterprise.

Yes, I’m that secretly nerdy, sci-fi-loving girl. It’s one of the things Ward and I once had in common.

A shiver runs down my spine and my throat is suddenly parched. For a moment, I can barely recall my own damn name, let alone why I’m standing on this fine-ass man’s front porch with my mouth hanging open.

“Great. I’ll get started on lunch,” Wanda says. “Should I set another place?”

“No.” Did someone leave the door to Alaska open? ‘Cause the chill coming off that single word could give a sistah hypothermia. “Our guest won’t be staying.”

Not off to the best start, but that’s okay. I’m not that hungry anyway. I had a bag of Pepperidge Farm cookies last night.

Wanda offers me an apologetic smile. She asks me to tell Deena she’ll call her later, then mouths You’ve got this and gives me a low thumbs up before disappearing around the corner.

Ward leans against the doorway with his arms folded. He’s a couple of inches shy of six feet tall. His broad shoulders and wide chest fill the space. Ward’s athletic build makes me curious about the musculature beneath that smedium, cobalt-blue T-shirt hugging his chest and offering a lovely outline of his pecs.

He leans forward a little. “You didn’t answer my question.”

“You didn’t ask one.” I stand taller, tipping my chin and folding my arms, taking up as much space as I can. “And let’s not pretend you don’t know who I am, Ward. Petty isn’t a good look on you.”

His nostrils flare, and one corner of his broad mouth curves in a smirk, exponentially increasing the level of sexiness he exudes without even trying.

“Maybe a little pettiness is justified. After all, when we broke up in high school—”

“I was kind of a bitch about it,” I admit with a deep sigh as I tuck a few loose strands of hair behind my ear. “But I was young and dumb and feeling myself a bit, if I’m being honest. I’ve wanted to say that to you for a really long time. But whenever we crossed paths…” I shrug, shifting my gaze downward. “The time and place just never seemed right.”

The snarl on his face anytime we crossed paths at an industry event didn’t help much either. But I opt not to mention that.

Ward stares at me without response, his arms still folded. But my apology seems to have deflated his puffed-up chest and sense of righteous indignation the tiniest bit.

I glance at the homes on either side of Ward’s. I have no reason to believe the paparazzi are following me this morning. But someone could be watching Ward’s house. Former pop star pleads with now-famous ex isn’t a headline I’m eager to see either.

“May I come in for a minute?” I ask. The chill from Ward’s stare sends another shiver through me. This one is far less pleasurable than the first. “I won’t keep you long.”

Ward begrudgingly steps aside and gestures toward the double French doors of his office. I thank him and step inside, taking a seat in one of the chairs in front of his desk.

“How about we jump straight to the part where you ask whatever it is you came here for?” Ward settles into his chair on the other side and checks his watch. “I have a brisket sandwich and a warm slice of apple pie waiting. Just know that every minute my food is getting colder, I’m feeling slightly less generous.”

“Then I’ll get right to the point.” I settle my purse on my lap, mindful of my mother’s insistence that setting it on the floor will lead to bad luck and money troubles. I might not put stock in the old superstition, but I don’t feel the need to take any chances either. I’ve got enough problems already. “I’m here to propose a mutually beneficial arrangement.”

“A mutually beneficial arrangement.” Ward mimics my voice, then laughs bitterly, which I don’t appreciate. Not to mention that he sounds more like Martin Lawrence as Sheneneh than me. “Like your proposal that we ‘date’”—Ward uses air quotes—“so we’d be voted homecoming king and queen?”

“Just like that, actually.” My face warms. A knot clenches in my stomach in response to Ward’s widened eyes, followed by a deep frown. He doesn’t speak, so I continue. “I realize I’m not your favorite person, Ward.” I ignore the grunt, which confirms my deduction more heartily than necessary. “But just like before, we can help each other achieve our goals.”

“And what exactly is your goal here, Karrisma?” Ward cocks his head, hitching one brow so high it practically hits his hairline.

He clearly remembers how much I hate being called by my government name, and he’s trying to goad me. But I won’t let him.

Stay focused and reason with him.

I take a cleansing breath. “Perhaps you’ve noticed that I’ve been getting a lot of less-than-flattering press lately.”

“No, actually, I haven’t,” Ward says coolly, folding his hands over his stomach. “What did you do?”

“I didn’t do…” I suck in another deep breath and lower my voice. “I didn’t do anything other than getting dumped by my fiancé. Which, I’m fine with,” I add quickly. “That’s his prerogative.”

“So, what’s the problem?”

“The problem is that Monté has apparently found the love of his life. But rather than just celebrating his newfound happiness”—I practically spit the words which are a direct quote from one of the countless articles about the newly engaged couple—“the narrative has become poor little washed-up Karris Baker who hasn’t had a hit in years. Whatever will she do?”

“Here’s a bit of free advice, sweetheart. We’re public personalities. People are gonna manufacture shit about us that isn’t true. On television, in print, on social media… You can’t chase down every unflattering headline out there. It isn’t good for your psyche, soul, or career. My advice? Let it go. Some other current or former pop star will do something stupid, and the news cycle will move on.”

“Don’t you think I’ve tried that?” I pop out of the chair, dropping my purse in my seat. I pace the floor, one hand pressed to my forehead. “We’ve tried to let this blow over. We’ve tried pushing stories about all the important work I’m doing… like the Peachtree Jubilee celebration. But it just keeps coming back to this. And with the jubilee coming up soon, I don’t want anything to detract from the publicity we’re working hard to create for the event.”

“I can appreciate your dilemma. I really can.”

A glimmer of hope sparks in my chest as Ward taps out a rhythm on the desk with his long fingers—something I hadn’t realized I find sexy in a man.

“But I can’t help you, Karris.”

“I’m not asking you to rescue me, Ward.” I try to push down my wounded pride. Hell, I didn’t want to do this in the first place. But now I’m invested and determined to change Ward’s perception of me. “I’d like for us to help each other.”

“You’re here because you want to help me?” There’s a hint of mockery in Ward’s tone. “I don’t know if you’ve noticed, sweetheart, but I don’t need your help.” He gestures to the framed, enlarged photos of himself on one magazine cover or another. “Maybe you should try the next guy on your list.”

“There is no list, Ward. You’re the only person I considered asking because we’ve done this before, and we got along so well.”

Ward’s frown deepens, his eyes resembling a darkening sky right before the start of one of those surprise Southern storms. “Until you didn’t need me anymore.”

His biting tone conveys anger, but it feels like masked pain. Which makes me feel even worse. I fucked up by ending our relationship so flippantly, and Ward isn’t in a forgiving mood. Despite the decade and a half that’s passed.

“I know… I mean… I realize that—”

“No, Karris.” Ward stands abruptly, startling me. I step back. “You’ll need to find some other sucker this time. This one isn’t available.” Ward jabs a thumb to his chest.

“I’m not using—”

“Request made and denied.” Ward walks to his front door and opens it. “This meeting is officially adjourned. Good seeing you again, Karris.”

I nibble on my lower lip as I retrieve my bag and make my way to the door. I pause in front of Ward, who looms over me. The hurt and anger vibrating off of him are palpable, and I truly regret hurting him.

“Thank you for hearing me out.” I step onto the porch and turn around before he can close the door. “Please know that I’m truly sorry about how things ended between us. You were a good friend, Ward. I never meant to hurt you, and I will always regret that I did.”

Ward winces momentarily. When he meets my gaze again, his expression is shuttered. “It would only hurt if I cared. And I don’t. Not then. Not now. Goodbye, Karris. See you at the jubilee.”

The heavy black door closes in my face, and I can’t help thinking that it’s the perfect metaphor for the current state of my career.

I heave a sigh and make my way to my Mercedes, still reeling over Ward’s reaction.

He turned down my sister’s harebrained proposal: the 2.0 version of my own wild, high school scheme. So be it. I’m honestly not that upset about Ward saying no. In fact, I expected it.  But it makes my chest ache to think that, despite his denial, I’ve cut him so deeply. It’s a lot harder to forgive myself for that.