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Authors: Niobia Bryant

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BOOK: Mistress, Inc.
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Aria Livewell
W
riter’s block was a bitch.
It was true and real and kicking my ass. Again.
But they were the highs and lows and ebbs and flows of being a writer. And that’s what I am. It’s what I was born to be. Be it short stories, poems, news articles, blog entries, or celebrity interviews for major news publications, words were my life. I was rarely at a loss for them.
God meant for me to be a writer. Well, that and Kingston’s wife.
I know after everything we have overcome and fought for that God meant him for me. I just thank Him every day that we made it back. My jealousy and insecurities and fears about men because of my own shady-ass past had made me afraid to trust him. Afraid to discover that he was just as low as those men my cousin Jontae and I used to seduce and then rob when I was a teenager.
That dumb-ass stunt by Jessa Bell’s tricking ass had just poured salt on the wounds, and I believed her words and doubted my husband. She was my friend since college, but she revealed the secrecy of my infertility to my husband out of spite? Jealousy? Hatred?
I don’t know her reasons. I didn’t really give a fuck. I just know that I could never forgive her.
Even though that no-good bitch’s stunt actually made my life better after the initial storm. She pulled the Band-Aid off of wounds that were festering and needed to be healed. She tried to destroy my happiness, and instead her betrayal of our friendship had led to us fighting even harder for our love.
But I could never forgive her.
Even though her revelations actually led us to therapy, and in time our foundation was strengthened even more than before.
Even though I discovered that God was still handing out miracles and I was blessed with a pregnancy even though I had two abortions all those years ago and even more years of never getting pregnant.
Even though my husband was at my side at the hospital, just as happy as I was to hear about the pregnancy, and anxious to return to our home with me.
Even though my therapist, Dr. Kellee, was still guiding me through the layers of pain and guilt and shame I had about the bullshit I pulled in my teens. The same guilt and shame that kept me from believing in my husband.
My and Kingston’s love was better than ever. The shit little girls dream about. The kind of stories told in romance novels.
But that was not Jessa’s intention.
I pushed back a bit from my desk and opened the top drawer to find the crumpled envelope with my name on the front in Jessa’s familiar handwriting.
Kingston had set the letter on my desk a couple of weeks ago and told me about it when I got home from doing an interview with a rapper just released from prison for drug trafficking.
“I caught Jessa leaving a letter in the mailbox,” he said after meeting me at the door to take my suitcase from me.
“What now?” I asked, hating the nerves set off inside me.
Kingston pressed a kiss to my temples, my cheek, and then my lips before he shrugged. “She claims it’s an apology,” he said. “I didn’t open it. It’s on your desk.
“I don’t have time for Jessa’s bullshit,” I said, before kicking off my heels, grabbing my husband’s hand, and leading him back to the couch to snuggle up close together. Soon any thoughts about Jessa were lost in the heat of our passion.
But in the weeks since she sent the letter, my mind ran across it.
Especially when Kingston, Renee, and even Jaime said the bitch apologized to them. That surprised me.
Jessa Bell apologetic? Shocker.
And now she was claiming to be pregnant by Eric.
More drama.
So even if Jessa didn’t have the restraining order against me for bopping her upside her head with her own cell phone in the Terrace Room, I couldn’t beat the bitch’s ass if she might be pregnant.
Or was this another Jessa Bell stunt?
Or
... was my ex-best friend and I pregnant at the same time?
I picked up the letter and stared at it before dropping it back into my desk and closing the drawer.
I couldn’t spare another moment on Jessa Bell ... but I couldn’t bring myself to throw the letter away either. One day curiosity would kill the cat, although I highly doubted that scandalous trick could say
anything
to make me forgive her.
Sighing, I tried my best to focus my thoughts and type the first word onto the computer for my article on the impact of reality TV on bullying among girls. But the words wouldn’t come.
As my stomach grumbled loudly in protest, I pushed back, away from the desk, and made my way downstairs to the kitchen. I used the remote to turn on the small flat screen on the granite countertop next to the professional-grade refrigerator. Pushing loose strands of hair off my face, I grabbed a tiny container of Ben & Jerry’s strawberry cheesecake ice cream and a spoon before sitting at the large island in the center of the kitchen.
“Today on
The Kerry Kay Show
we are bringing some of the most scandalous news stories across the country into the forefront. And first we’ll be talking with Jessa Bell—”
I almost choked on my ice cream as I looked at Jessa Bell sitting on stage next to Kerry Kay. I grabbed the remote to turn up the volume. “No, this bitch is not doing
interviews.
What the fuck?”
“She is a former mistress who almost lost her life recently when she attempted to end the affair with her married lover ...”
I sat for the next twenty-five minutes in stunned silence as I watched Jessa Bell play with the sympathies of both the studio and television audience. I shook my head at the tears, the sad face, the pensive sighs.
“I didn’t know this crazy bitch could act,” I said, feeling my anger for Jessa rise, particularly when she brought up that her lover’s wife had had her own affair. She said no names, but it wouldn’t be hard for anyone to research and discover Jaime’s identity.
“You slick bitch,” I said in a low voice before I turned and jogged up the stairs to enter her office. I snatched open that top drawer and grabbed the letter from Jessa to press into the small shredder next to her wooden desk with a shake of her head.
Chapter 7
“W
elcome back to SQN’s Hardline News. I am your host Nunzio Gonzalez, and we are breaking down and exploring every horrific detail of the brutal murder of the unsuspecting wife of a mega-church minister by his mistress. ”
Jessa tensed from her seat in the news station of one of SQN’s affiliate stations in New Jersey. She listened to the fiery and controversial host of the cable news show introduce his entire panel that included attorneys, a popular minister of a mega-church, and her.
God be with me,
she prayed as the light over the camera that she faced lit up.
She remembered to keep her face neutral as she listened to the two attorneys go back and forth with each other and the host for the next two segments on the upcoming trial.
“I want to take another look at this case, at the events leading up to this mistress actually planning and then going forward with her decision to brutally shoot the wife of her minister lover. Let’s bring in a former mistress whose attempt to end the affair ended with her lover attempting to kill her before he shot himself in the head. Jessa Bell—and, no, the irony of her name is not lost on us—why do you think there seems to be such violence attached to affairs in the headlines?” Nunzio asked.
Jessa forced herself to relax in her chair. “I’m not trying to say that my experience makes me an expert on this subject, but I think history shows this is not a new phenomenon. Um, in my case, I wasn’t aware of the issues that the man I was dealing with had. I had no clue that he was in a mental situation to snap and become violent with me. He had never been that way before. And so for me, this is more than just a mistress done wrong or a mistress no longer wanting to be second place, the capability or ability to murder someone is just ruthlessness in an individual regardless of what situation they’re in. Although I will admit that at one time I did want him to leave his wife for me, but that I can’t fathom murdering her or anyone else for that matter.”
“Is there a ruthlessness to admittedly being the other woman?” Nunzio asked in his hard, pull-no-shorts voice meant to titillate his viewers.
“Of course, and that’s why I have made the choice not to enter into that type of relationship again, but I will say I think a lot of the blame for the affair is placed entirely on the mistress. This minister is just as culpable for the affair and maybe even for not seeing that the person he brought into his life and his relationship was dangerous. But the focus is on the woman, as if she made the man overlook the marriage vows that he made, particularly in Reverend Franks’s case as a man of the cloth.”
“True,” Nunzio said with a nod of his head.
“I think about one of my neighbor’s husbands who is pursuing me to no end and the pervert is intrigued that the triangle I was in ended in violence—”
Nunzio slammed his hand down on the desk and his mouth fell open emphatically. “What kind of sick neighborhood are you living in?”
Jessa laughed. “Seriously, the man said to me—after telling him in no uncertain terms that I am
not
interested—that he wanted to try some ‘bleep’ that was good enough to make a man want to kill me. That is crazy, and that to me is a clear sign that he is a fruit loop ready to flip.”
Nunzio frowned in distaste.
“I considered telling his wife. I feel like she should know who she is married to. I feel like I should tell her, but then I don’t want to destroy her either because it could be perceived as spite. I’ve done spiteful things in the past, but this time I just really want to warn her to get away from this man.”
“Touchy situation,” Nunzio said, tapping his pen on the desk.
Jessa nodded. “It really is.”
Nunzio shifted papers on his lit desk before he looked back up at the camera with his lean and hard features. “Now, Reverend Franks has not been legally implicated in the murder of his wife. Do you believe he is still responsible for her death?”
Jessa shrugged as she turned her lips downward. “I believe that he is wholly responsible for the affair. I don’t know enough about the case to say he plotted with his mistress to have his wife murdered. I have faith in the judicial system that if they cleared him of any wrongdoing, then his responsibility ends at the affair. To me, even if this man promised to divorce his wife and run away with this woman and then backed away from that promise, there is never a reason for someone to kill someone else. Never. To me, it completely lies at her feet for her actions. Having been someone in this type of secret—and at times exciting—relationship where he made promises to me that he didn’t keep, I ended the relationship with him and tried to move on, but murder never entered my mind. So that’s her crazy that could’ve manifested in
any
situation. She is just capable of murder. Period. Not because she’s a mistress who was wronged, but because she’s
crazy.
Period, point blank,” she finished with emphasis and a look like “Right?”
Nunzio chuckled as he picked up a few sheets of paper and swiveled in his chair to push them in a drawer. “True, Jessa Bell. Very true,” he said. “Before we say good-bye to you, what about this name of yours. It’s hard to miss that if you say it three times fast, it sounds like the infamous Jezebel.”
Jessa smiled a little, feeling more comfortable in front of the camera. “Yes, I know. But I married and became a Bell, so that wasn’t a mark on me my whole life or me living up to my name or anything like that. It is just a coincidence. Because of being almost killed, I am truly trying to make amends and correct my life, and it’s just a name, Nunzio,” she said with a soft smile. “I’m thinking of adding my maiden name back to it to break it up. It’ll be Jessa Logan-Bell.”
Nunzio laughed. “I think that’s a good idea.”
“Me too,” Jessa said with a nod of her head.
Nunzio faced the camera. “This is
Hardline News
and we’ll be back to continue our in-depth look into ‘The Murder of the Minister’s Wife.’ ”
The light over the camera darkened and one of the crew stepped forward to remove her microphone. “Thank you,” Jessa told him, as Myra stepped forward looking like she wanted to do a cheer as if she were on the sidelines of a football game where a winning touchdown was just scored.
“You are a natural. You are a star, Jessa. You did
g-r-rr-eat,
” she gushed.
“Who are you, Tony the Tiger now?” Jessa teased, accepting from Myra the oversized snakeskin clutch that perfectly suited the soft ivory linen dress she wore.
Myra just laughed.
Jessa felt tired. This was actually her second cable news show that week discussing “The Murder of the Minister’s Wife,” which she thought sounded more like a horrible title of a mystery book than an actual news story headline.
Myra opened her iPad as they walked off the set. “Don’t forget you have the interview for the magazine tomorrow. They wanted to do it in your home and take actual pictures of the room where the murder-suicide attempt happened—”
Jessa shook her head. “No, definitely not.”
Myra held up one hand. “I already handled that and told them you completely redid the room so there was nothing to see anyway. The interview will happen at the Terrace Room restaurant tomorrow at three. Do you know where it is?” she asked.
Jessa smiled. “I think I can find it,” she said as they exited the studio and then climbed into the back of a waiting blacked-out SUV.
Jessa’s cell phone rang. “Excuse me,” she said, interrupting Myra as she pulled it from her clutch and answered the call without checking her caller ID.
“Hello.”
“You trifling, worthless, waste of skin and bones. Are you kidding me suing Eric’s estate on behalf on your bastard child?”
Jessa sighed and settled back against the plush leather seat. “This call is as pointless as your behavior, Jaime. You’re a college-educated woman and everything is laid out in the papers. Take them to your attorney and have your people contact my people. And what will happen is that same little baby that you keep calling a bastard will be recognized, will be respected, and will receive its inheritance. Your mouth wrote a check your ass is going to sign ... over to me.”
Jessa ended the call and powered the phone off before easing it back into her clutch with calm. She had already expected the call because her attorney let her know the papers were being served today.
Contesting Eric’s will was more about getting what rightfully belonged to her child than thumbing her nose at Jaime, but Jessa had to admit—and she could only pray to God for forgiveness—that it felt damn good to put the bitch in her place.
Eric had been a successful man and Jaime had filed for divorce from him. His death occurred before the divorce was finalized, and suddenly the runaway bride was the well-off widow.
Well, she won’t spend this baby’s inheritance buying up Pleasure’s dick.
“Umm ... Jessa. Are you pregnant?”
Jessa shifted her eyes over to Myra. “Yes, I am.”
“And it’s by Eric?” she asked with the type of wariness a person had around a rabid animal.
“Yes, Myra,” Jessa said coolly as she looked down at her stainless-steel watch with diamond accents.
“And you’re suing his widow to contest the will?” Myra asked again, her tone still careful.
“Why, Myra?”
Myra’s eyes widened as big as half-dollar coins. “Because this changes
everything,”
she said in exasperation, her fingertips flying over her iPad.
Jessa eyed her for a second before she turned and looked out the window at the passing scenery. She knew the news of the lawsuit was about to hit and she didn’t care.
She was pregnant.
She was suing the estate of the baby’s deceased father.
She had served her ex-friend and his widow with papers.
The truth was the truth and Jessa wasn’t living lies anymore.
 
After lunch with Myra in the city, Jessa felt completely exhausted and ready to go home for an afternoon siesta. Between the morning sickness and feeling tired as all get out, Jessa found herself sleeping more and more.
I’m not a young spring chicken,
she thought, as the SUV pulled up to the gate of Richmond Hills.
Lucky, the portly red-faced security guard stepped out of his glass booth. Jessa lowered the rear passenger window and leaned her head out. “Hello, Lucky,” she said.
He looked at her and smiled politely. “Hello, Ms. Bell,” he said, before entering a code onto the keypad to open the gate.
Jessa leaned back and started to raise the window via the power button on the door console.
“I saw you on
Hardline
this afternoon,” Lucky said.
Jessa pressed a stiff smile on her face as she sat forward again. “How was I?” she asked, even as she felt her fatigue in her eyes and shoulders.
“You made some good points and you looked really pretty,” he said.
“Thank you, Lucky.” Jessa nodded and upped the window as she settled back against the seat.
Lucky suddenly placed his hand on the window.
Jessa frowned a bit as she looked at him.
He looked apologetic. “I just wanted to warn you that a few of your neighbors—the wives—they saw it, too, and they’re pretty riled up to find out which one you were talking about?” Lucky said, looking bashful.
Jessa’s face filled with confusion.
“Um, you know, the part about the neighbor’s husband that’s not taking no for an answer,” he reminded her gently.
“Ooh,” Jessa said in sudden understanding. “Well, they’ll be okay. And so will I. Thanks, Lucky.”
She successfully raised the window this time and motioned with her hand for the driver to go. She felt fearless as the SUV cruised through the street leading to the cul-de-sac where her home sat. Jessa wasn’t in the mood for a bunch of cronies with insecurities.
Yes, she played the cruel game of “Guess Who” with her friends about a possible philandering husband, but she wasn’t in the mood for the bullshit now.
But her eyes widened in surprise at the large amount of women gathered on her front door.
What the fuck?
“Slow down, driver,” she requested, quickly counting more than fifteen women surrounding her house like this was the night of the crime scene. Black, White, Asian, Latino. Young, old, middle-aged.
Do all of these women suspect their husbands of approaching her for an affair? And all of them are honestly seeking out the truth of their marriage from her? What the hell?
It hadn’t been Jessa’s intention to have the wives of Richmond Hills shaking in their Louboutin pumps about their husbands. She had been making a point about the equal guilt of the husbands in beginning affairs.
The women parted like the Red Sea as the SUV turned into the drive leading to her two-car garage. Jessa gathered her purse and shades as the driver left the SUV to come around and open the passenger door. He helped her down out of the SUV and securely held her arms as he guided her through the women who immediately began shouting at her.
BOOK: Mistress, Inc.
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