Everything is You

Raymond exhaled a long frustrated breath. “You’re a difficult woman, J,” he conceded. “I’m gonna let it go for now.”

“Good.” She turned her attention to her pasta. “You want me to drive you to the airport in the morning?”

He cocked a brow. “You want to?”

“Of course.”

“Thanks. By the way, the invitation for my parents’ fiftieth anniversary party arrived yesterday. The celebration takes place in three months, and I wish you would come with me.”

She kept her eyes on her plate. “I told you, I don’t do family.”

“You never talk about your family.”

“Nothing to talk about.” She stirred her food around in her plate.

“Another non-topic,” he murmured.

Jacqueline chose to ignore the barb. She’d put physical miles and emotional distance between her and her family for years. She periodically stayed in touch with her nieces, LeAnn, Dominique and Desiree, and nephews Rafe and Justin. But she hadn’t spoken to her brother in years. She was not of the mighty Lawson ilk. She made her own name and her own way in the world. She refused to be dictated to by her brother the way he did everyone else. The people in her life didn’t even know that she was related to the royal Lawson clan of Louisiana. And that’s the way she wanted to keep it, including Raymond.

Raymond studied her while he finished off his beer. What happened between her and her brother? She never talked about Branford Lawson and had he not done some digging on his own he would have never known that they were related. Crazy. But he would respect her wishes, even if he didn’t understand her reasons. To him, family was sacred. He came from a large, loving, all-in-your-business family. He couldn’t imagine not having them in his life. But Jacqueline Lawson was a complex woman. It was what he loved about her, but he’d kept that to himself as well.

Jacqueline pushed up from the table and came around to Raymond’s side. She put her arm around his waist and rested her head on his shoulder. “You’re going to have a wonderful time, do all those things that families do when they get together and then you’ll fly back.”

Raymond turned on the stool and pulled her between his thighs. He looked up at her and caressed the side of her face with his finger. She lowered herself onto his lap. He tilted her chin upward and kissed her softly.

Jacqueline lightly draped her delicate wrists on either side of his neck and looked into his dark almost black eyes, seeing the history of their journey there, a journey that she was going to have to end. Her insides tightened.

When had their relationship gone from professional to personal? For several years it had been only business between them. It was the way it should have stayed but she’d made the mistake of letting Raymond slip past her defenses.

They’d met quite by accident at the National Association of Black Journalists a few years ago, at the annual awards dinner in Washington, D.C.…

Chapter 2

Jacqueline never enjoyed those stuffed shirt affairs. She’d sweltered in them most of her young life growing up in the Lawson household where the sun shining was reason enough to throw a gala. Her mother and father—God rest their souls—were Southern royalty. Her father’s closest friends were those that most people only read about. And her mother was in her glory entertaining them. The Lawson home was and remained the central hub for the comings and goings of the political, corporate and entertainment Who’s Who. And her brothers Branford and David were cut from the same cloth.

Perhaps it was because she was the youngest—a change of life baby, as her mother always reminded her—and a girl, that her father focused all of his attention on her brothers and her mother turned her over to the nanny so that she could conduct her charity events and social climbing.

Jacqueline never felt part of the family but more of an afterthought. So she made her own way, built her own life and over time the tenuous ties that bound her to her family were severed. The final cut being her brother David.

Unfortunately, those once per year events were part and parcel of her business and as reluctant as she was to admit it, she did learn from living it, that rubbing elbows was needed and necessary. And, besides, it was one of the few times that she did have a chance to interact with her colleagues and see some of the important work they were doing and being recognized for.

When she’d walked into the grand ballroom at the Kennedy Center she immediately wished that she’d brought a date. She pasted on her best smile and wandered over to the bar. The crutch of a glass of white wine could hold her up for at least an hour if she sipped really slowly. And if she found a comfortable leaning position or a good seat out of the way, her feet encased in “sex me” heels would last through the long evening.

“You look like you hate this almost as much as I do.”

She angled her head to the right and inhaled a short, sharp breath. Yummy was her first thought before she could respond.

“Is it that obvious?” She arched a questioning brow as her photographic eye took him in from head to toe in one click of her internal lens.

The amazing dark chocolate-brown eyes twinkled in the light and creased at the edges when he smiled down at her. She wasn’t a big gospel fan but he sure could be a body double for the singer BeBe Winans with the dulcet tone to go with the look. And that body appeared totally comfortable and sleek in his tux.

“You have the ever ready wineglass. The casual lean against the bar pose…” His gaze traveled down. “…to keep the pressure off of those pretty feet.”

She bit back a smile.

“And the…‘just how long is this thing gonna last,’ look in your eyes.” He turned to the bar and picked up his glass of Hennessey on the rocks then returned his attention back to her.

“Observant.”

“Occupational hazard. Journalist?”

“Photographic.”

He nodded slowly in appreciation.

“You?”

“Foreign correspondent.”

She switched her wine flute from her right hand to her left and extended her hand. “Jacqueline.”

“Raymond Jordan.” His hand enveloped hers.

He smelled good, too. “Nice to meet you.”

“You have a table?”

“No. Do you?”

“Naw.” He took a swallow of his drink. “I figured there had to be an available seat in here somewhere. After all, I pay my dues and I did get an invite.”

She giggled. “My sentiments exactly.”

“Care to spend the evening with another jaded guest?”

Jacqueline glanced up at him. “Sure, why not.”

Raymond crooked his elbow and Jacqueline hooked her arm through.

They found a table in the center of the room with two empty seats at a table for eight. After a bit of seat shifting they settled next to each other and were soon served appetizers for the sit-down dinner.

Up front, CNN correspondent Anderson Cooper was in conversation with Karen Ballard, who specialized in motion picture photography. Jacqueline and Raymond whispered conspiratorially about Cooper’s possible appearance in a film and they entertained themselves by concocting stories about the plethora of attendees that spanned the gamut of journalism, and swapped stories about some of their memorable assignments.

Raymond was equally as traveled as Jacqueline and spoke three languages fluently, compared to her two. He’d lived in Japan for a year, spent several summers in Europe and loved motorcycle riding.

“What was it like being embedded with the troops in Iraq?” he asked.

“Scary. But I knew that they wouldn’t let anything happen to me. I was there to do a job and they respected that.” She glanced off.