Love T.K.O.. Pamela Yaye

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      Yasmin pulled her Volvo into the garage. Grabbing her purse off the passenger seat, she clicked the power lock button and entered the house through the side door. The elegant book-and art-filled home was in Carrollwood, an upper-middle-class neighborhood in north Tampa. Young executives and stay-at-home moms frequented the boutiques, specialty shops and five-star restaurants in the local plaza.

      Flicking on lights as she strode through the main floor, she unbuttoned her blazer, shrugged it off and then draped it over one of the chairs at the kitchen table. Wanting their place to have a chic look, but not wanting to do the work herself, Imani had insisted they hire an interior designer. The sisters had sat down with renowned decorator Essence Gilbert-Clark, told her what they wanted and left their house in her hands. The end result was a stylish, urban decor with low-hanging ceiling lights, large suede area rugs and rich, vibrant paint. The open-concept kitchen, like the rest of the house, had walnut-stained flooring and plenty of bay windows ushering in natural light. Maple cupboards tinted in sable brown, granite countertops and dainty glass chairs accented the wide, luxurious space. Beyond the kitchen were a half bathroom and laundry room that led to the heated double garage.

      Opening the fridge, Yasmin selected a bottle of her favorite wine. Once the pinot blanc was uncorked, she poured herself a glass, opened the back door and stepped outside onto the patio. Since Eric’s death, she had found herself more appreciative of the beauty of the great outdoors. The fresh air, the stars, the gentle passing of the night. It was in these quiet moments that Yasmin did the most thinking. Sitting down on a wicker chair, she propped her feet up on an ottoman and slowly sipped her drink.

      Yasmin spotted Anna Karenina on the table, but didn’t reach for it. Tonight she just wanted to be alone with her thoughts. The extra hours she had put in at the office after quitting time had been well spent. The fifth annual Parkland Community Center Charity Fund-raiser was starting to come together. It had taken some convincing, but Yasmin had booked the caterer, wrangled up a five-piece orchestra and organized a decorating and cleanup crew. There were eighty confirmed guests and, if they wanted to break even, they had to sell another forty tickets. All she needed now was a celebrity emcee. Last year, P. Diddy had been scheduled to appear, but a snowstorm in New York had prevented him from attending. It had been a huge letdown, but the music mogul later sent a donation and enough Sean John T-shirts for all of the children at the community center.

      This year’s fund-raiser had to be a success. The well-being of a hundred inner-city children and their families was at stake. If she wanted to draw more attention to the event, she had to find a celebrity guest. Nothing attracted people to an event like an actor. Or a singer. Or an athlete.

      Yasmin tilted her head to the right, an idea taking shape in her mind. There was someone she could ask. Someone popular enough to draw a huge crowd and raise thousands of dollars for the center. A man so charismatic he would make female guests swoon and male guests cheer. Rashawn Bishop was a hometown boy who’d made good, and that was a story anyone could admire. The only questions now were whether he would do it and what it would take.

      “Hey, girl.”

      Yasmin turned at the sound of her sister’s voice. Imani stepped onto the patio, the bottle of pinot blanc at her lips. “What are you doing home? Shouldn’t you be at Dean’s?” Yasmin asked.

      “He had to work late so I decided to come home and catch up on some work.”

      “I see.”

      “Did you have a good day?”

      “You mean before or after you reamed me out?”

      Imani plunked down on the chair beside Yasmin. Her long legs poked out from underneath her money-green wrap dress, which emphasized her small bust and size-six waist. Kicking off her heels, she crossed her legs and adopted a matter-of-fact attitude. “You have no right to be mad at me. You blew off one of my biggest clients. Cecil Manning is not only poised to be our next mayor, he’s making major moves in the real estate industry, as well. We have a solid business relationship and I’d like to keep it that way.”

      Yasmin took a deep breath and blew it out. When it came to her sister, she had no choice but to take the bitter with the sweet. She was annoyed with Imani, but decided not to speak on СКАЧАТЬ