Strange Addiction

by Alexis Nicole

Genres: African American; African American Urban

Synopsis

Aspiring journalist Heiress Montgomery has her life all planned out. She graduated from the school of her dreams, she's working at a hot media magazine, and she has plans to become the editor-in-chief of a major publication. Her whole life is about accomplishing that goal, until she meets King Stevens. King has already achieved fame and fortune as an actor, and he completely turns Heiress's world upside down. Heiress comes to realize that life in the spotlight isn't always what it seems. Her dream becomes one long nightmare from which she just can't seem to wake up. Constant abuse, lies, addiction, and infidelity are part of the package with King. Things only become worse when she is betrayed by her best friend. Heiress feels like she's losing herself. Meeting therapist Leslie Hunter and running into her childhood friend Donovan has reminded her of who she used to be, but can they bring her back from the point of no return before it's too late?

Release date: September 18, 2012

Publisher: Urban Renaissance

Print pages: 288

Sample

This was the day I’d dreamed of for my entire life. And I was trembling.

I stood in front of the closed double doors of Mount Sinai Church, shaking in my custom-made Pnina Tornai wedding gown as beyond the doors “When I First Saw You” played softly on the keyboard. My breath was hard and heavy, making my veil sway back and forth, catching at times on my lipstick. But that was not what concerned me the most. It was my heart—I was afraid it was going to beat right out of my chest.

“You okay, baby girl?” My father rubbed my right hand as if he sensed my anxiety and wanted to give me some peace.

“Yeah, I’m okay, Daddy. Just nervous, that’s all.”

My father smiled and I could see the joy and love he had for me shining in his brown eyes. And all the love he had for me, I had for him. He had been the greatest man in my life. He had taught me about life and love and had never given me anything less than unconditional love.

Stepping right in front of me, my father lifted my veil and looked into my eyes. “Take a deep breath, sweetheart,” he said softly. “Everything will be fine.”

It was the love in his eyes and the smile on his lips that made me take a deep breath and gather myself.

He said, “You make the most gorgeous bride, and you’re going to be a wonderful wife. This is your day, princess, and I’m so proud of you.”

He kissed me on my cheek before he put my veil back in place, just that single act calmed me. Now I was ready.

As if on cue, the church doors swung open, and I heard the first four chords of the wedding march. All three hundred of our guests stood up, and the oohs and aahs echoed throughout. I stood at the edge of the doors, taking in the pews, which were packed with my family and friends. The sanctuary was filled with the white roses and calla lilies that I’d wanted, and the slight scent of vanilla filled the air from the dozens of oversize candles that lit the space.

As I stepped down the aisle with my father at my side, I heard the sighs and whispers of appreciation as I strolled past each row. I wasn’t paying attention to any of it. My eyes were glued to one place, to the one man who filled my dreams every night, the man who waited for me at the altar.

He blinked over and over, and I knew that he was fighting to hold back his tears. That made my heart flutter and brought tears to my own eyes. All I wanted to do was run the rest of the way so that I could stand next to him, because I couldn’t wait until I would officially be his wife.

Before I took the last step, I inhaled a deep breath. Then I was by his side. Standing in between my father and the man I loved, I waited for the preacher to begin the ceremony.

“We are gathered here today to join this man and this woman in holy matrimony,” the preacher started. “Who gives this woman’s hand in marriage?”

My father took a deep breath of his own. “Her mother and I do.” Then he lifted my veil, just like he’d done a few minutes before, and kissed me on my cheek. “I love you, baby girl,” he whispered in my ear.

“I love you too, Daddy,” I said, once again fighting back tears. “Thank you for everything.”

He wrapped my hand inside my husband-to-be’s and then took his seat of honor next to my mother.

Now I stood next to him alone. Just the two of us doing the thing we’d been planning for over a year.

The preacher continued reading the formal words from the little black book he held, and I stood staring into my soon-to-be husband’s eyes, still amazed at the fact that he’d chosen me to be his wife.

In his expression I saw our life, our future . . . but I also saw our past. That was when my heart started pounding again, hard. I shifted from one foot to the other before I turned and handed my bouquet to my maid of honor.

Just as I was turning around, someone screamed, “Oh my God! She’s got a gun!” Before anyone could even blink, two shots rang out and my fiancé hit the floor. Blood gushed from his chest and quickly pooled around him.

More screams and loud cries filled the air, but for me, the world was silent. I stood there shaking, not understanding, not knowing what had happened.

And then . . .

I was tackled from behind. I couldn’t see who’d thrown me to the floor, but I figured it was one of the security men that we’d hired for the ceremony.

I felt like I was bolted to the floor as he wrestled the gun from my hand. Around us, there was still nothing but bedlam as the guests ran over each other to escape. From the floor, I lifted my head, and right in front of my face was my fiancé’s lifeless body and . . .

“Heiress!” Blair’s voice rang out loudly in my ear. “Heiress!”

I popped up in the bed, blinking rapidly, my head whipping from side to side. My body was drenched in sweat as I tried to calm down. I breathed deeply, over and over, until I felt my heartbeat slowing down to normal.

It had happened again. For the third time this week, I’d had this dream.

I was still in a foggy haze when I glanced around our bedroom and finally focused on Blair, standing in the doorway.

“I hate to tell you,” my roommate began, “but it’s almost eight o’clock, and if you don’t get your butt out of that bed, you might miss the most important interview of your career.”

“Oh my God!” I said as I glanced at the clock on my nightstand. I jumped from my bed and made a beeline to my bathroom. It was 7:43. That meant that I had to be dressed and fight Los Angeles traffic to get across town in less than an hour. It was a good thing I’d taken my shower last night.

With my toothbrush in my mouth, I figured I could multitask, so I dashed into my closet to pick out what I was going to wear. From the corner of my eye, I saw Blair sitting on the edge of my bed.

“So how excited are you to be interviewing all those fine men this morning?” she asked with such enthusiasm you would’ve thought I was going to a party.

I laughed. “For the hundredth time,” I began, with the toothbrush still in my mouth, “I’m not the one interviewing them. I just have to be there to set up and be on call if anyone needs anything.”

Hearing my words spoken out loud was kind of depressing. All my life I had wanted to be a journalist and had done everything I could to make that happen. I graduated top of my class at USC, was the senior editor of the college’s newspaper, the Daily Trojan, and now I’d been working at one of the hottest new entertainment magazines in the country for almost a year. Yet with all of that, I still had not written a single article. If it had not been for my daddy telling me to keep at it, I probably would’ve quit by now.

“Okay. Well, then, walk me through exactly what’s going on today.”

As I rinsed out my mouth and then brushed my hair, I swore that Blair was tap-dancing on my last nerve. Not that I didn’t appreciate her excitement for my job, but I was running late and really didn’t have time to go over all of this again. Especially since I’d already told Blair what today was all about. I’d told her last week, when I first found out about it.

“Must we really go through this again right now?” I asked as I pulled the purple wrap dress from my closet. I knew I probably sounded a bit impatient, and I was.

“I promise I won’t bug you anymore after this, but please,” she begged in her baby voice, which was her trick to get her way.

She was lying, and I knew it. Blair would definitely bug me again, as soon as I got back to our apartment tonight. She’d want to know everything. Still, I decided to entertain my friend. It was always just easier to give Blair whatever she wanted, or else she would make sure that I never had any peace. So I took a deep breath and said, “BME magazine is having an all-male edition of who to watch this year in all aspects of entertainment, and there will be eight men who will be interviewed.” I tried to say it all in one breath while I wiggled into my dress.

When I glanced at my nightstand, the clock blinked 8:03. Dang it! Lord, why did I pick today of all days to oversleep?

Blair sighed. “Girl! What I wouldn’t give to be in a room surrounded by a bunch of hot black millionaires.” She leaned back on my bed and stared at the ceiling as if she were in deep thought. “Maybe I should skip work and come kick it at your job. I need to start shopping for a husband.” Blair held her left hand up and wiggled her ring finger. “It would be great to be Mrs. Millionaire.”

“And on that note, I’m gonna get out of here.” I paused for a moment and pointed my finger at her. “Keep your tail away from my job.” I grabbed my bags from my desk and bolted toward the door.

“Heiress.”

I didn’t turn back as Blair called out to me. I tuned out whatever she was saying, just letting the door close on her words.

Taking a quick glance at my watch, I saw that I didn’t have much time to get all the way across town. My stomach fluttered with anxiety, and that was when I knew that today was going to be a very interesting day.

“I need water in rooms two and four, because both King Stevens and Devonte Reese are arriving in thirty minutes. We are wrapping up Alec Mitchell’s photo shoot, so make sure he’s taken care of before he leaves. Our singer is at a radio interview, so he’ll be running late, which will put us behind schedule. Make sure everything is set up for his shoot so that we can get him in and out and try to catch up.”

Carmen was in rare form. I walked three paces behind her as I jotted down notes the whole time, trying to catch all the orders she’d just barked at me. I was focused, making sure that I caught everything she was saying and that I didn’t miss a beat. I’d never worked on an article of this caliber, and I wanted to make sure that every single part of this was right.

Carmen Joelle had been working here at Black Media Elite for about five years. She was best known for being able to pull in the big-name interviews before anyone else could get close. She was like a networking God, working all kinds of parties and various events over the years. She’d met people, made connections, developed friendships, and now her BlackBerry was as coveted as President Obama’s.

I’d known Carmen for a while, ever since I’d tutored her brother during our junior and senior years in college. That was the reason I’d gotten this job in the first place. This whole cover article was her idea, and she had picked me to assist her. This was my shot, my chance to really be noticed by the higher-ups at BME. I was going to do everything to make sure that things ran smoothly.

“You can start with that, and then come report back to me.” Carmen didn’t even check to see if I had gotten it all before she darted down the hall to check on the photo shoot of the Heisman Trophy winner and number one draft pick in the NFL.

Looking at the long list, I decided the best way to tackle this was to work on the easiest tasks first. That meant that I needed to get the rooms set up for the next two interviews.

I was in and out of Devonte’s room in less than ten minutes. He was low maintenance and didn’t have a lot of demands. All he wanted were six bottles of Voss water and a bowl of fresh fruit. For a seventeen-year-old stylist who seemed to be wanted by every hotshot in the business, his requests were quite surprising.

King Stevens, on the other hand, was a pain in my side. Mr. Hollywood was definitely taking his acting fame to the max. This man wanted fresh espresso, two dozen pastries, four bananas, three apples, two bunches of grapes, a dozen bottles of water—Voss too—and some weird humidifier, which had to be on at least thirty-five minutes before he entered the room.

I hadn’t met the man, and I already didn’t like him. It took me almost thirty minutes to get everything organized in his room—and get that humidifier working—which threw me at least ten minutes behind schedule. But I had to make everything right. One of the reasons why Carmen could call anyone on the phone was that she always took care of them. So I had to make sure I didn’t mess Mr. Stevens’s room up. After taking a quick look around to make sure that everything was in place and presentable, I swung the door open and came face-to-face with the chest of a god.

I stood there, dumbfounded, just staring.

“Well, hello, gorgeous. Do you come with the room?” King Stevens flashed his gorgeous smile at me, as if flirting with the help was routine for him.

King Stevens hadn’t come alone; there were three people behind him. Two men and a woman all had cell phones pressed to their ears, and each one was talking faster than the other, all sounding like auctioneers.

But my eyes never really left King. I stayed focused on him, shocked at the fact that he was even more handsome in person than he was on the big screen. How was that possible? Gathering myself, I took a few steps back and opened the door wider to let him and his entourage into the room.

“So are you going to answer me?”

I guess my question was written all over my face.

“I asked if you came with the room,” he said as he moved past me.

“No, sir, I don’t,” I said, sounding and staying professional. I looked at him as if his words meant nothing, even though just the thought that he’d noticed me made my heart flutter. I said, “I was just setting up your room. Take a look around, make sure everything is to your liking, and if you need anything else, my name is Heiress Montgomery. I’ll be more than happy to get it for you, sir.”

He held his hand against his chest. “Damn, girl. You just hurt my heart. Please, please, please don’t call me sir! It makes me feel like my father. King is just fine.”

“I apologize, si . . . King,” I said, catching myself before I said “sir” again.

He gave me that smile, and now I had firsthand knowledge of why women were always falling at the feet of this man.

“Just let me know if you need anything.”

“All right,” King said as he moved around, scanning the room for everything that he’d ordered. Just as I was about to step into the hall, he said, “So, Heiress . . .”

I spun around.

He continued, “Will you be the one interviewing me?” He seductively popped a grape in his mouth as his eyes roamed over me from my head to my toes, then slowly, slowly back up until he was staring into my eyes.

I stood at the door, because there was nothing else that I could do. This man was breathtaking, every bit of him. He couldn’t have been taller than six feet, with his smooth caramel skin, bright brown eyes, and a goatee that surrounded his luscious lips and pearly whites.

“Um, no. That would be Carmen Joelle,” I said. “She’s going to do the interview.”

“And why aren’t you?” Never breaking eye contact with me, he lifted another grape and slipped it between his lips.

I sighed. I needed to be rescued, but as I glanced around the room, there was no help from his entourage. All three were still on their phones, apparently handling King’s business and seemingly oblivious to our conversation. “Well, this is Carmen’s assignment,” I said, finally answering him. “I’m just an assistant.”

“Are you a journalist?”

“I consider myself to be, but I haven’t written an article here at BME.”

He nodded slowly and gave me a sideways glance, like he had other thoughts.

“Heiress, what are you doing?”

I heard Carmen’s angry voice before I saw her. I spun around.

She said, “There still so many things that haven’t been done, and you’re here fraternizing with our guest.” She rolled her eyes at me before she extended her hand to King. “Hello,” she said.

Before she could introduce herself, King said, “You must be Carmen.”

“Yes, I am, Mr. Stevens. I’ll be doing your interview. Just give me a moment to get my team all squared away, and then we can get started.” Carmen turned to shoo me out of the room.

“Actually, Ms. Joelle,” King began, “there’s been a change of plans. I want this young lady to do my interview.”

“What?” Carmen and I said together.

Carmen added, “Mr. Stevens, I’m sorry, but it doesn’t work like that. I have everything set up for your interview. Plus, Heiress is not an experienced journalist.”

What I wanted to do was interject and run down all my credentials. Of course, I was capable of doing this interview, but I kept my thoughts to myself and the words I wanted to say. I wasn’t crazy. I needed this job to pay my bills, and this man, as fine as he was, and this interview, as tempting as it was, weren’t worth me being jobless and, soon after that, homeless.

“I understand there is protocol and rules and all those other things”—he waved his hand in the air, as if none of that mattered—“but the bottom line is this. I only want to talk to her.” He looked past Carmen and flashed that immaculate smile at me.

“Can I just ask why?” Carmen turned her stare from King to me. She was trying to remain professional, but I could see the look of disgust in her eyes.

The way King’s lips spread into an even wider smile sent a chill up my spine. Once again, his glance roved over me, from my feet to my face. He said, “I like her smile.”

That was it. Both Carmen and I stood there in amazement, and I did my best to wipe my smile off my face, but no matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t.

The only woman in King’s entourage clicked off her phone, then motioned to King for his attention. When he turned away, Carmen grabbed my arm, dragged me into the hall, and closed the door behind us. She was so pissed that she didn’t even speak right away. She just paced back and forth, as if she was trying to keep her temper in check. I just stood there, shifting from one foot to the other, wishing I could just disappear. Being one of the stars of BME, Carmen was known for her temper. But in the year that I’d worked here, I’d never gotten on anyone’s bad side. In fact, I was the one that everyone wanted to work with.

I guessed that was all going to change.

I stayed silent until Carmen stopped moving. She took two steps toward me, stared me dead in my eyes, and snarled. My heart was pounding with fear. The last time I felt like this, I was in high school . . . facing my parents. I’d just missed curfew because I’d stayed at Johnny Fletcher’s house party an hour later than I should have.

I knew I was in major trouble then, and I knew I was in major trouble now.

“What did you do, Heiress?”

“Nothing!”

“What did you say to him?”

“Nothing. I promise, Carmen. All I was doing was what you asked. I was making sure that the room was right, and then he came in and asked if I came with the room.”

Her eyes got thin, like she was trying to look through me or something. “I have no idea what you said or did to make this man throw me a curveball like this,” she hissed. Carmen held up her hand, stopping me from protesting again. She continued, “But if you mess this up, I’ll make sure you won’t be able to sell a newspaper on a street corner, let alone write another article.”

“I swear, Carmen,” I said, shaking my head, “I didn’t do anything.”

She remained silent for a moment, studying me as if she was trying to figure out whether or not I was telling the truth. “Well, it doesn’t matter now, does it?” She glared at me before she tossed a notepad into my hand. “Here’re the questions. Stick to only these questions. And when you’re done, escort him to his photo shoot.”

Really? She was going to let me do this? Really?

“And you better not mess this up!” she said again.

I was going to tell her that I wouldn’t, but she had already turned away, storming down the hall, mumbling underneath her breath. I could imagine the things that she was saying about me, but I didn’t want to th. . .