Dominique almost acquiesced, but there was a trait called stubbornness between her and her desire to spend the afternoon wrapped in Jake’s strong, muscled arms. He was standing his ground and she didn’t like it. Since recovering from her last relationship and the betrayal that accompanied it, being in control was her territory. Jake was strong, a man’s man, and while she knew that she’d be less impressed with a weakling, she wasn’t sure how much she liked his being able to stand up against her.

After reaching her house, Dominique hit her garage door remote and eased her car forward. “I think I’ll stay home and get some rest,” she said, as she pushed the remote and exited her vehicle. “I plan to be in the office early in the morning.”

“Okay,” Jake said, disappointment dripping from the word, and added, “But instead of the fact that I’m a man of my word, I wish it were your body you were holding against me.”

26

26

Monday morning, and Dominique was in a major mood. She tried to blame it on the fact that her subject for the summer issue, D’Andra Simmons, had had to cancel their interview because her son had gotten sick. But truth be told, Dominique was experiencing withdrawal of the Big Mac kind. Until yesterday, it hadn’t dawned on her that Jake was becoming a part of her routine, his loving as expected as having breakfast in the morning. Since meeting him, this was the first weekend she’d spent alone and not having him by her side bothered her more than she cared to admit. Plus, she still hadn’t broached the “Jake as a father” comment with her son and wasn’t necessarily looking forward to the conversation.

“What is it, Reggie?” she barked into the phone.

“Ooh, excuse me, Miss Dom, but girlfriend... who’s got your panties all in a bunch?”

Dominique sighed. “Get in here.”

Reggie pranced into her office in his usual flamboyant fashion. Today he wore a turquoise shirt, black velvet pants, and—inspired by Miss Jay from America’s Next Top Model—his size-twelve feet were enduring three-inch, custom-made heels. His hair was freshly permed and extended beyond his shoulders, a nod to his respect for Beverly Hills’s flamboyant hairdresser, Elgin Charles. His lashes were long and his makeup flawless. In short, Reggie De-Vaughn Williams looked amazing.

“So talk to me, Miss Dom,” he said, once he’d plopped his hard, round derrière into the seat facing Dominique. “What’s going on, girl?”

“I’m having a bit of an issue with Justin’s football coach,” Dominique replied.

“That fine, strapping, corn- and beef-fed, weightlifting brothah?” Reggie uncrossed his legs, shifted, and recrossed them. “I can think of a few issues I’d like to have with that man.”