The Ex-Wife

by Candice Dow

Genres: African American Women's Fiction; Mystery

Synopsis

With her sizzling tales, fan-favorite author Candice Dow has carved a niche for herself in the romance genre. Radio host Ayana Blue has grown popular by doling out relationship advice - and she's created a career that affords her many of the finer things in life. With everything coming up roses, sharing a night of passion with hunky Cameron seems like the sweetest, richest icing on the cake - but then Ayana learns that Cameron is married.

Release date: January 29, 2013

Publisher: Grand Central Publishing

Print pages: 304

Sample

For early April the weather was warm, the sun beaming through my windshield forcing me to run my AC as if it were midsummer.
I pulled up to a condominium development in Buckhead, not far from Lenox Square Mall. Using my hand as a sun visor, I checked
the address on the building. My producer Quentin had referred me to his celebrity real estate agent friend, whom I was meeting
for the first time. I’d done some online home browsing but this was the first place I was seeing in person. Quentin had told
me this guy sold million-dollar homes, but his slogan was “Nothing too big or too small.” He was Cameron Small, of Small Realty
Group. His slogan was catchy enough for me to give him a try.


A silver Audi A6 pulled up a few parking spaces away at exactly two thirty. I assumed it was Cameron’s. After the driver got
out of the car, I stepped out and headed in his direction.


He shook my hand. “Hi, Ms. Blue. Pleasure to meet you.”

“Cameron, the pleasure is all mine. Call me Ayana, please.”

“And you can call me Cam. Everyone else does,” he said, smiling. I smiled back, mesmerized by his charisma. My entire body
overheated. Could it just be the temperature?


He blushed almost as if he were reading my mind. It seemed like an eternity before he continued: “So the spot is in the building
here.”


Quentin hadn’t given me any details about Cam aside from his being the best Realtor in Atlanta, but at that moment I wanted
to know everything. Was he married? Did he have kids? Was he heterosexual?


Cam was wearing jeans and a black fitted T-shirt with black Prada sneakers. He carried a leather backpack. I estimated that
he was about five foot eleven; he wasn’t short, but I had the feeling that he wasn’t quite six feet. He walked ahead of me
as we climbed the stairs to a second-floor garden condo. I was not feeling the place, but I was definitely feeling the swagger
of the guy in front of me. I watched his strong mocha arms as he rolled the code on the lockbox. The key fell out of the box
and he unlocked the door. When we entered the condo, he said, “First order of business, I’ll need you to sign these forms.”


He handed the forms to me as we stood next to the countertop in the empty unit. He hovered over me as he told me where to
sign and why I was signing. His face was clean-shaven with a nice dark mustache. His hair was cut low in a temple taper. He
looked and smelled crisp: a light cologne mixed with Irish Spring soap. I inhaled the scent of him; his vibe was smooth and
jovial, almost familiar.


“A’ight. Cool. Now that the business is taken care of, we can get to the fun part. We’re going to visit every condominium
complex in Buckhead. Cool?”


I said, “I’m really not the type that needs to see everything. I want to see the three best condos in my price range, preferably
two-bedrooms with a den, and I can make a decision.”


He stopped in the middle of the living room and laughed. “So Ayana Blue is not picky.”

“Is there something about me that makes you think that I am?”

He shrugged. “I shouldn’t say this, but most women are picky. Usually when men come to me, they see one or two places and
they are ready to put a contract down. Women, on the other hand, can spend two, three, sometimes even six months looking at
everything on the multiple listing because they have something in their mind that they’re looking for and they don’t stop
until they get it. Nature of the business though.”


“So are you as patient and friendly with these women after month three?”

He laughed. “Of course. I earn a living from referrals. I’m as eager to show the sixtieth place as I am to show the first
place. If I’m showing, I’m still in the game, and that’s all that matters to me. As long as I put food on the table and clothes
on my son’s back, you know?”


Why did my heart sink? Just because there was a son didn’t mean there was a wife. He didn’t have on a ring, but that didn’t
mean anything either.


“How old is your son?”

“He’s eight.”

I had been so wrapped up in work that my flirtation was rusty. I entered the master bedroom and looked at the bathroom before
I decided to pry further.


“What’s your son’s name?”

“Caron.”

“He lives with you?”

He took a deep breath. “We have joint custody.”

“So what’s that like? Do you do week by week or do you have certain days and she has certain days?”

“Our schedule is not so formal. I guess, if anything, it’s more like I get certain days and she has others, but not always
the same days. You know?”


Would I be real pressed to ask which days he’s most likely to get his son? I needed to know how his parental schedule would
interfere with dating and he wasn’t giving me enough information. We had toured the condominium and were scheduled to see
another. Though it was clear that he wasn’t in a relationship with his son’s mother, it still wasn’t clear whether there was
a wife or a girlfriend in the picture. For fear of pressing too hard, I figured I should back off. Maybe I should have just
come out and asked if he was single and ready to date. Instead I said, “Not sold on this place. We can go to the next one.”


“Cool, you wanna just hop in the car with me?”

I shrugged and we headed to his car. He opened the door for me. That was quite gentlemanly. I smiled and thanked him. As we drove to the next place, he opened up a little more.


“I’m glad you’re decisive, Ayana.”

“Why is that?”

“I usually schedule showings like these in late evening or early in the day.”

“What do you mean, ‘like these’?” I asked, using my fingers for quote marks.

“I just mean residential real estate. That’s all.”

“Oh, I thought that was some type of snobbish way of saying your pro bono properties.”

He smiled. “No, Ayana. Selling properties like this is how I got where I am. I never disrespect the game.”

“That’s good to know,” I said flirtatiously.

“And during the week I pick my son up every day so I like to schedule around that.”

“Wow. Every day?” I asked with my dating hope fading.

“Yeah, I usually have him from four to six or seven.”

“Really?”

“She’s a hairstylist and doesn’t usually get out of the salon until that time.”

“His mom? Your wife? Your girlfriend?” I jabbed that question in quickly so I could get the info I needed to either stop or
continue flirting.


He laughed and looked at me. I couldn’t help laughing too. That was tacky, but I wanted to know.

“No girlfriend,” he said, still shaking his head in disbelief before he continued. “His mom. My soon-to-be-ex-wife. We’re
in the middle of a divorce.”


“Ooh,” I said, with screeching brakes.

“It’s a nasty one.”

That was a double ooh. We pulled up to a high-rise building. As we hopped out I shifted into counselor mode. “Divorces are never fun. I think that
two adults who realize they are going in opposite directions should agree to disagree and come to an understanding as to how
they are going to handle the family business apart. But unfortunately, emotions get the best of us and it becomes a battle.”


“Exactly.”

We caught the elevator to the top floor. This unit was a penthouse condo with a loft and den. As soon as we entered, it felt
like home. He looked at me and knew that we had struck gold.


He said, “Don’t get too excited. We have others to see.”

This place had a concierge, a twenty-four-hour doorman, a fitness center, and a meeting room. It offered everything I needed
and more. The floors were mahogany. The kitchen shone with granite countertops and stainless steel appliances. Both of the
bedrooms were large and called master suites. The loft overlooked the family room. There was a bump-out eat-in kitchen and
a formal dining room, as well as a wraparound patio off the family room and kitchen. I imagined having my girlfriends over
for our Friday night chats. It was as if the architect knew me personally and had designed the floor plan just for me.


“I told you that I was simple. Didn’t I?”

“Now simple is one thing, but it’s my job to make sure you’ve seen at least three to five options before you put a contract
on anything.”


“If that means I get to hang out with you for a little while longer, that’s cool.”

We both burst out laughing. Why did I even let those words come out of my mouth? I really wasn’t interested in dealing with a man in the middle of a nasty divorce.


“Ayana, you are cooler than Quentin made you out to be.”

“What did he say about me?”

“Honestly?”

“Yeah, honestly. Even if it does hurt my feelings.”

He looked directly in my eyes. “He said that he’s never met a woman quite like you. He said he didn’t even know God created
women like you.”


Cam nearly brought tears to my eyes. I had known Quentin respected me but to hear it from someone else was flattering.

“Aw. He really said that?”

“He said you’re amazing and the man that snags you would be a lucky son of a bitch.”

I felt almost bashful hearing these things about myself.

“But you’re not settling down anytime soon. Things are going too good,” he said.

“Cam, no one should ever be too busy for love.”

He smiled. “On that note, when can I take you to dinner?”

I appreciated his direct approach. While I had baited him, I was shocked that he had bitten almost immediately. I certainly
wasn’t going to turn him down.


“I love to eat.”

“And I love a woman that likes to eat. Is this evening too soon for you?”

It was, but I wasn’t going to let him know. Some men only ask once and I didn’t want to make him think I wasn’t interested.
It had been nearly a year since my last date and this was all so sudden. I felt that I needed to get my mind right. Reluctantly
I shrugged. “Of course not.”


“Is seven a good time for you?”

“Perfect.”

Cam took me back to my car and we agreed to meet at Copeland’s on Piedmont.

  

Cam had sleepy eyes and they were so sexy under the dim lights. Over dinner I discovered that he had simply married the wrong
woman for the right reason. They were young and fresh out of college. He believed he was in love and she was passionate and
exciting, but he grew professionally while she stayed the same or even regressed over the years. Before long they were worlds
apart. Surprisingly, that wouldn’t deter him from remarrying. He wanted to do it again with the right person. He said that
he believed in marriage, that when he looked at all the men he respected, they were married and he wanted the same thing.
He loved to cook and travel. He gave me a rundown of his family structure. He respected his mother and more important he loved
his late father. His parents had been in their mid-forties when he was born, but he claimed their maturity had made him the
man he was.


A part of me wanted to wait until I got the full report from Quentin in the morning to fall for him, but I really liked him. I was imagining that I could be with this man. This is the one thing I tell people not to do, but sometimes advice
without emotion is unrealistic. I adored his zest for life, how much he wanted to know about me, and how straightforward he
was about what he was looking for in a relationship. His taxi light was on and he was practically jumping up and down saying,
“I’m available.” From what Quentin had told me, this man was pretty wealthy, but there wasn’t a pretentious bone in his body.
For me pretentiousness was the biggest turnoff of all and the one thing I had found to be common to all the men I met in Atlanta.
Not him though. He was real. He was open. He was different.


Good conversation made the hours pass rapidly. The staff began to clean the restaurant around us as we sat absorbed in each
other. Ten o’clock arrived too soon and I didn’t want the night to end, but it was time to go.


After we left the restaurant and headed to the parking garage I was tempted to ask him to come back to my place, but I felt
that it was too late. My car was a little distance from his, so he offered to drive me to it.


When I sat in the passenger seat, he looked at me. “Ayana, it’s been a really long time since I was out on a date.”

“So you’re telling me that a man like you isn’t swarming with women?”

“Nah, not at all. I’m picky for one. Number two, I’m all about drama-free living.”

“I see.”

“Yeah, but this is different. I like what I see.” He laughed. “I like it a lot.”

“Me too, Cam,” I said before I could catch myself.

He leaned over and kissed me. His masculine hand touched the side of my face. His tongue twirled slowly in my mouth and my
vagina began to throb. It seemed like we were connected. Our lips were locked and neither of us pulled back. He wanted more
of me and I wanted more of him. Could this be right? In a dark parking garage on our first date? Or would we ruin the possibilities
if we were to succumb to our nature?


I knew better, but my body told me that I was lying to myself. I wanted to be wise, but I needed to feel him right there,
right then. His hand slipped under my shirt and he began to rub up and down my back. He put his finger on the hook of my bra.


“May I?”

I didn’t want him to stop. Whatever was to be this night was destined. He struggled momentarily to unhook my bra, but finally
it popped open. He lifted my shirt and looked delighted with my double Ds. He stared at me for a second.


“Your body is perfect.”

A woman can never hear those words enough, especially when by most standards she’s considered overweight. I was five foot
six and 185 pounds, and it wasn’t every day that someone put my body and perfection in the same sentence. That aroused me
more.


The armrest between us restricted our closeness. He kissed my breasts awkwardly before asking me to sit on top of him. I climbed
over to his seat and he moved the driver’s seat back. He lifted my shirt over my head and I wrapped my arms around his neck
as he made oral love to my breasts.


“Can I have you?”

I nodded yes. From the bulge I felt through his jeans, I wanted to have him too.

“You sure?”

I nodded yes again. He put his hands under my skirt to feel me. “Ooh, you feel so good.”

We kissed some more as I tried to come out of my panties in the confines of his car and he unbuckled his jeans and pulled
them to his knees. He grabbed a box of condoms from the armrest storage compartment, taking one out before placing the box
back. I was wet and he was rock-solid as we shared an inquisitive, passionate stare for a few seconds. Was this right? Was
this lust just too strong for us to resist? He used his mouth to open the packet and quickly put the condom on. As he held
on to my thighs and I slid down on him, we both exhaled. All our preoccupations and inhibitions dissipated as we united. We
ground slowly and sighed deeply as if this was what we both needed. He kissed me passionately as if we were longtime lovers.
He looked in my eyes with each stroke. The warm and humid air made our skin stick together, forcing us closer. It felt better
and better the longer he was inside me. It felt like he belonged there. Finally he exploded and I felt brand-new.


We talked inside his car for several hours longer. Finally, at around two in the morning, he drove me to my car. I looked
at him and I knew at that moment this hadn’t been a mistake. His expression said he saw the same something in my eyes. We
kissed. I knew that if I didn’t take the first step we would stay longer.


“Cam, I had a wonderful night.”

“I would ask you to come home with me, but…”

I didn’t want to know what had caused the but, because I was certain it would taint the wonderful night. “Don’t worry. We have to see those other condos tomorrow. I’ll
see you then.”


“Ayana, you’re cool,” he said, still holding my left hand.

I reached for the handle and opened the door. “Tomorrow?”

“Definitely.”

His grip was even tighter. I set one foot out of the car and slowly pried my hand away from his. Soon after, the second foot
followed and I closed the door. I wanted to scream with excitement, disappointment, frustration, and anticipation all at once
but I didn’t. I took a deep breath and followed Cam out of the garage.




My state of ecstasy spilled over into the next day. Cam texted me bright and early in the morning: CAN’T WAIT TO SEE U THIS AFTERNOON.

I had planned to ask Quentin all about him since he was the one who had referred me to Cam. When I saw Quentin, I felt a little
unsure of whether I should say anything. Cameron’s energy was right. He was honest and sincere. I’m usually right about these
things so I wasn’t sure if I should solicit secondhand information. Then there was a side of me wondering if my analysis could
have been wrong because I wanted it to be right. My intellect and my emotions battled as I tried to decide what to say to
Quentin.


He interrupted my preoccupation. “How’d the home search go?”

“It was cool. We looked at two places and I’m looking at two today.”

“See anything you like?”

I wanted to laugh. Hell yeah, I saw something I liked. I only wished Quentin had forewarned me that his boy was so damn fine.


“Yeah, I saw one place that I really liked.”

“Cool. Cam is a real good dude.”

“He seems like it.”

Quentin and I went over notes for the show and neither of us mentioned Cam any further. I decided to delve more into Cameron’s
background once we were off the air. I knew Quentin would know it, being that they’d been friends since high school.


When I started the show, it was the first time in twelve hours that I wasn’t thinking about Cam, because I love my job more
than anything. When I’m here, I feel most like myself. It’s not exactly what I dreamed I’d be doing, but it comes so naturally.


While pursuing my PhD in psychology I started out on a journey to discover why all my good girlfriends and I were still single.
We were all in our late twenties, attractive, and had good jobs or were pursuing professional degrees. Certainly the selection
of good black men couldn’t be that bad. There had to be something wrong with us. Were we too dominant? Were we too picky?
Or did we just have bad luck? Assuming this would be the perfect dissertation subject, I began my research. Naturally, I decided
to start with the women who were in seemingly healthy marriages.


After nearly ten interviews I was shocked to learn that many of these women in the socially imposed ideal situation were unhappy,
and seven of them claimed they would not marry their husbands if they had it to do over again. While I had expected to get
responses about how great it was to be committed to the one, I ended up disappointed with the reality that men are men.


Besides being single, my friends and I were happy. Most of all we were free. With freedom came options and we knew we weren’t
stuck. Maybe that was why we laughed, traveled, and abs. . .