Almost There, page 1
Almost There
A Prequel to Shame On You
Table of Contents
Title Page
Almost There
Also by Rhonda McKnight
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Other Books in the Samaritan Woman Series
About the Author
Rhonda McKnight
Copyright © 2016 by Rhonda McKnight
ISBN: ???
ISBN-13: ???
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any means without prior consent of the author, excepting brief quotes used in reviews.
This is a work of fiction. Any references or similarities to actual events, real people, living or dead, or to real locales are intended to give the story a sense of reality. Any similarity in other names, characters, places and incidents is entirely coincidental.
This Book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This Book may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to your favorite Book retailer and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.
Also by Rhonda McKnight
__________________
Samaritan Woman Series
An Inconvenient Friend
What Kind of Fool
Righteous Ways
Shame On You
Jordan Family Series
Give A Little Love
Live A Little
Love A Little
Second Chances Series
Breaking All The Rules
Unbreak My Heart
The Restoration Series
The Winter Reunion
The Winter Wedding
The Winter Baby
The Bennett Family Series
All She Wants
All He Needs
All They Need – coming April 2021
Other
When She Loves
A Woman’s Revenge
Secrets and Lies
Dedication
For Micah...You challenge me to do something different every day!
Acknowledgments
My children...you love me and overlook much as I write. You also inspire me to be my personal best. I love you! My parents (Bessie and Jimmie McKnight) and siblings (Cynthia and Kenneth McKnight)...thank you for the encouragement, love, and support.
Thanks to author, Marsha Malcolm, for helping me with the Jamaican in this story. ☺
I appreciate Tia McCollors’s husband, Wayne Anthony McCollors, for letting me know what a man WON’T do!!!
My destiny-sisters, Sherri Lewis and Tia McCollors. Love you both for encouraging me/cheering me on/checking me in love and for listening to all those long Voxes. Muah!
I know a lot of book clubs read my books, but this year the ladies of Majestic Bloom Book Club of Atlanta and Victorious Ladies Reading Book Club of Raleigh/Durham made my time with you very special. Thank you for supporting me for each and every book. You ladies rock!!!
Thanks to all my readers for loving this series. You have challenged me to deliver my best with each story. I appreciate your love and support. And to one special reader, Tiffany Carter, you remind me that “I’m late!” Thank you for loving my characters! Your notes make my heart smile. ☺
Synopsis
Zane, Benxi, and Mekhi's careers are on the brink of superstardom. But each has a past that's threatening to catch up with them. While some of their demons are deep emotional wounds, others are flesh and blood enemies who will stop at nothing to keep them from achieving the fame they've worked so hard for.
Chapter 1
Zane
Go Home.
Go Back to Jamaica.
Go Die.
Gangsta witches.
I stared at the text messages again, raised my eyes, and scanned the faces of the women in the room. Like me, they were all models in varying stages of getting dressed or undressed.
One of these witches had sent me those text messages. Eight pairs of eyes looked back at me. Some were filled with murderous venom and others were empty...vacant. Those would be filled with hate too if the light in them weren’t dimmed by drugs. I was warned this kind of jealous drama would happen. I expected notes or unfriendly behavior, not people getting access to my personal cell phone number. I returned the phone to my bag, stood, and straightened the bust of my dress.
“I’m going to put some tape along your back to hold the dress so it doesn’t slip. Alyssa, my wardrobe assistant, pushed the tacky surface against my skin.
The girl was a beauty in her own right. Too short to model, but her face, thin frame, and graceful movements would work for her well one day.
“You’re excited, no?” Alyssa asked.
Was she kidding? Photo sessions were not exciting. Maybe the girl was new. “You’re from Italy?” I’d recognized her accent the first time we’d worked together, but I didn’t ask before.
“Yes, Sicily. I’ve been here five months.”
I wondered how easy it was for a girl to get to the U.S. from Italy. She was the right color, so I ventured not as difficult as it had been for me. But still, she’d left her home and probably her family and friends behind. I remembered what that had been like and tried to be nice to her.
“The Donna Karan jacket I wore yesterday...they gave it to me. I watched her eyes turn into saucers. Her bottom lip actually trembled. Was she going to salivate? “You can have it.”
Alyssa clapped her hands together. “Thank you. I love Donna Karan and I don’t own anything designer yet.” She paused and then, “It’s beautiful. Are you sure?”
“The sleeves are too short.”
She clapped again before dancing to a nearby table, picking up more tape and resuming her work on my dress.
I wished her energy was contagious, but it wasn’t catching. I released a long breath. I was tired. I was trying to be excited. I wanted to be over the moon, but this job – this perfect opportunity – was scary. New York was the first of many trips that included Paris, Italy, London, Japan and at least twenty other countries. Twenty more countries that would separate me from Mekhi. Not that he wanted anything to do with me, but still, I hoped he’d change his mind. I hoped he was missing me.
“All done?” I twisted my head as if I could see my back. Alyssa held up a mirror. It wasn’t my job to assess her performance, but I could see she’d gotten me properly fixed up.
“We’re ready for you, Zane!”
“Right on time.” Alyssa smiled. “You’re the prettiest Belle ever.”
Her words swirled around in my head. I wondered if she really meant them.
“Let me know if you need anything,” she added.
I nodded. I walked through the opening of the tent transformed fitting room toward the pool. Two of the guys helped me step down into the water. I knew I’d be in here for hours. Jumping, splashing, laughing, throwing my head back, kicking my legs up and smiling...always smiling. The evening gown sank under the weight of the water. It was already heavy when it was dry. It would weigh a ton wet. The set assistant waded toward me, bringing a fur jacket. More weight.
She draped it across my shoulders and I thanked her.
“Do you need anything before we get started?” she asked. “Water?”
I shook my head. “I better not. I don’t want to have to pee.”
Even though she and I were the only ones that could hear, she raised a hand to whisper, “It’s a pool. You’re the only one in the water.”
I scrunched up my nose. “Peeing in a ten thousand-dollar dress. That won’t be what I’m remembered for.”
She smiled and then gave everyone waiting a thumbs up and made her way out of the water. A powerful fan began to blow. The long, red wig they’d pinned on my head floated in waves behind me.
“Okay, Zane, let’s get warmed up here.” The photographer was the world renowned Dino Riche. I couldn’t believe I was standing in front of him. “Pose for me.”
I sprang into action.
A smile, iridescent and bright, filled my face. I couldn’t actually see my face, but I knew what I was doing. The magic I’d practiced my entire life. The magic my mother had taught me. Mommy assumed I would be a front desk person in one of the local hotels on the Jamaican coast, like she had been and her mother before her.
“We have the gift of beauty in our family. The people at the hotels like to put pretty girls on the desk, even if they haven’t been to university. So you learn to smile, Zannia. You use your smile to get you the job you want.”
I moved with swiftness as I jumped and kicked up my leg. The stage under the water was solid, but in heels it didn’t feel so. I knew my torso and thighs would hurt later. This kind of balance in heels, in water, on a stage required the use of every muscle in my core and below.
Passersby began to stop. People couldn’t help but stare at the beautiful, black goddess in the water. I twirled my neck, thr
I was the new Belle. The model everyone would want to see for the next year or two or how ever long I lasted. Belles were the world’s most photographic models. They made life look fun no matter what they were doing; sitting in a cafe in Paris, on safari in Kenya or on a freezing cold set in Switzerland. The job was to sell fun and happiness.
Kathy Latimore, the model who was going out, had a reputation for being easy to work with. Good natured, funny, sweet, and extremely gracious were a few of the words thrown in my face about her. I had a lot to live up to. I had to make sure to have the same kind of reputation. Ugliness in modeling was not tolerated on the set, not in public, and certainly not from a black girl from Jamaica.
“Back to me, Zane,” Riche called. I turned on command, making sure not to fall as I moved. “Drop your chin a little and pout.”
A pout was easy. I had a pout in my belly. I wanted to pout all day. Pout about Mekhi. Pout about my broken heart. The broken dream of having found the man I’d wanted to be with. My lip trembled. My pout turned into a frown that I had to fix before Riche noticed.
I needed to stop thinking about Mekhi. But he baffled me. What was it with him? Why didn’t he see having this year’s Belle on his arm at events as a good thing? I already had music artists and athletes sending invitations for dates. Their notes and cards were arriving with flowers and gifts. Men wanted to be with me. But not Mekhi. And I knew the reason. It was the same reason I hadn’t told him I loved him before that day. He was in love with someone else. He always had been. I’d never fully had his attention. Unfortunately, my silence hadn’t stopped him from seeping into my soul.
“A little less attitude,” Riche said. “Be playful.”
Focus. I told myself. I tried to hear Mommy’s voice. Pay attention, Zannia. Smile.
The memory of her made me fight to keep my jaw open. It was a struggle to keep that million dollar look in my eyes I knew the photographer wanted when I thought of her. I fought to keep from remembering one of the worst days of my life, but like it always did, it came back to me no matter how hard I tried to block it.
We stood outside the house of the Powells, a wealthy family who Mommy worked for when their helper was sick or on vacation. Mommy took work as a domestic from time to time. She enrolled me in ballet lessons. My brother took piano and complained about it every week. She had to work extra to pay for our lessons. It was also fall which was low season for tourism and the hotels laid people off until holiday. My brother could be trusted to stay home alone, but not supervising me. Not in our neighborhood for the whole day, so I went to work with Mommy. I was good at cleaning. I helped her get through the houses faster.
We entered the house and found Mistress Powell preparing to leave. “I’m going to the supermarket. Let your pickney come with me,” she said, gathering her handbag and shawl.
“Mistress, I can go to the store when I’m done cleaning,” Mommy offered. She didn’t like me to be far from her side.
“I want to go for myself, but I need help with the bags.” Mistress Powell glanced down her nose at me. “You trained her not to run off, didn’t you?”
Mommy nodded, told me to mind my ways and we left.
When we returned, I carried the groceries inside and began to put things away while Mistress Powell went next door to visit a neighbor who had called to her. I wasn’t sure where everything was to go, so I went to find Mommy.
The house was large and grand, four stories tall with more rooms than I could count. But it was scary. I felt like a monster was going to bust from the door or a snake would come out of the walls. I was only nine, so I blamed it on the darkness of the halls. I checked every room except the master suite, because Mommy told me never to disturb that room. The mister might be home, but I had to find her. It was about more than the food; I wanted to know where she was. I pushed the door open enough to make a crack.
Mommy was undressed down to her bra and slip. Her helper uniform was on the chair next to where she stood.
“Mistress Powell is back. I need to get cleaning or she gonna call me lazy and fire me.” Her voice shook with each word.
Mr. Powell came into view. “You’re the best helper she ever had and I’m not just talking about cleaning.” He touched Mommy’s face. I could see her disgust when she turned her head from him. “I wouldn’t let her fire you.”
He was a fat man with more hair on his bang belly than he had on his head. He was wearing boxer underwear and black socks. He reached for Mommy, she moved and he twisted her arm when he got her.
“One more time.” He pushed on her shoulder. She dropped to her knees in front of him.
“You have a pretty mouth,” he said, pulling down his underwear.
A squeak came out of my mouth. I jumped back. The door creaked as it swung open. Mommy jumped to her feet. Mr. Powell grabbed her arm before she could rush to me. He used his free hand to pull his underwear up.
“Get out of here gal or you’ll be next,” he barked.
Mommy smiled, but I could see the pain. Her face looked like the one on the skeleton in the nurse’s room at school. Her eyes scared me worse than the mister’s yelling.
Mommy’s voice cracked when she stuttered, “Gwaan. Dust the library room.”
I swallowed sadness, reached for the knob and pulled the door together. Before I clicked it shut, I saw Mommy drop to her knees again.
“Open your mouth and throw your head back!” Riche yelled.
I took several shallow breaths. I felt like I was under water instead of standing in it. It took me a few seconds, but I regained my composure and did as I was told.
I gave Riche the right amount of teeth, eye drama, and anything else he asked me to do with my million dollar body. I was a supermodel. I would soon have international fame. Unlike my mother, I had control over my future. That was more than enough to smile about. I wasn’t going to let Mekhi Johnson or any other man bring me to my knees.
Chapter 2
Zane
The party wasn’t on my schedule, but Pamela Singer, my new boss at Belle International, insisted I attend. Macmillan Bell, the owner, was in town for the day and he wanted to meet his new model. So even though my muscles ached after being in that pool for four hours and then on set for more hours for a skydiving shot in a warehouse, I put on yet another costume, more heels, and another smile to enter the room at the Ritz Carlton.
The party was a huge event. I realized it wasn’t a last minute decision to have it. It had been a last-minute decision to invite me. I was already being treated differently. Why would MacMillan Bell have a party and not invite his new Belle?
“Kathy was supposed to be here to say goodbye to Mr. Bell, but she let them know she wasn’t coming. She says she’s sick,” Eva Marie, one of the assistants to the other Belle girls, whispered to me. She was assigned to work for me tonight because my own assistant wasn’t starting until Monday. Eva Marie stood next to me shoving one cheese ball after another into her mouth. “Let me know if you want to know who everyone is.”
I nodded. “I do.”
Eva Marie began sharing the names of ambassadors, pro-athletes, congressmen and prominent businessmen. I noted famous and rich and important people everywhere.
The food, of which I ate none, was plentiful. I couldn’t afford the calories. Not now. Three extra pounds had already crept onto my body. My mourning and crying about Mekhi was followed by an entire gallon of ice cream and a pizza one night. I was naturally thin, but at 123 pounds it was unnatural for a woman my height to be so lean. I had to do unnatural things to maintain my size. Not eating was one of them. People thought I had an eating disorder, but I didn’t. My skin was Vogue magazine gorgeous. There was nothing sick about me. I was determined not to gain weight. I controlled my appetite with natural supplements and herbs.
Eva Marie excused herself, disappeared into the crowd for a few minutes and then reappeared. “Clayton Steele wants to meet you.”
I cocked an eyebrow. “Do I know him?”
“He’s a football player. New Orleans Underdogs. It’s a minor league team. He’s also Mr. Bell’s son from another mother if you know what I mean.”
I glanced in Clayton Steele’s direction again. “Really?”
