pools, a gym with a sauna and a home theater. Carrera marble ran throughout the first floor, and the grand staircase in the foyer was adorned with custom brass balustrades designed by Versace. From the ceiling, twenty-five feet above, hung decadent chandeliers made in Paris by some designer with a name Tuesday still couldn’t pronounce.
There was a time when Tuesday had been intimidated by the big white house, but it quickly became as comfortable as an old slipper.
All the staff had already gone for the day so the house was quiet and still.
Tuesday had been gone since breakfast and had eaten nothing the entire day—except for Shaun. They had two kitchens, a gourmet kitchen plus an executive chef’s commercial kitchen, which they only used to cater formal gatherings. The first was the smaller of the two and where Tuesday immediately went for a snack.
The granite countertops were spotless and the stainless steel appliances shone like polished chrome. Dinner was typically prepared by their personal chef and Tuesday figured that the family already ate without her. She found a veggie lasagna in the refrigerator and reheated a slice. For dessert she stole four of the walnut chocolate chip cookies their housekeeper Esperanza baked especially for Marcus. Tuesday was at the center cook island nibbling on one with a glass of milk when Brandon entered the kitchen.
To the world, Brandon King was Marcus’s father and the face of their legitimate empire. In truth, he and Marcus were not even related—a secret known to no one outside the three of them. Brandon had played the right-hand and enforcer to her husband back when he was known as Sebastian Caine. People would look at this handsome elderly gentleman with his tailored pinstriped suits, salt-and-pepper curls, and friendly smile, thinking he belonged on the cover of GQ magazine. They would never suspect that he had once been one of the most notorious hit men in the country.
He perched himself on the stool next to hers. “We missed you today.”
“Sorry, I had an appointment that ran long.” Tuesday was staring straight ahead trying to avoid the judgment in his eyes. “When I knew I wouldn’t make it, I sent you a text and told my secretary to take notes. I’ll look ’em over tomorrow.”
The appointment she was referring to was at the salon. Tuesday just wasn’t in the mood to deal with work this day. While the rest of Abel Incorporated’s senior staff was taking care of business, Tuesday was out with her girlfriend getting their hair and nails done.
His tone was sympathetic: “Hey look, I get it. Boring ass three-hour meeting and you decided to play hooky. Who wants to listen to stuffed suits go on and on about Pakistan’s changing export regulations and how they’ll affect our market share? Shit, I wish I could skip ’em too. But as the chief executive officer, and one of the Kings to boot, that’s not a good look for the company or the fam.”
Guilt slumped her shoulders; she offered a nod. She knew that what she did at Abel reflected back on Marcus and Brandon, which was why fucking with Shaun was doubly stupid. The two of them had worked extremely hard to conceal their pasts and build the Kings’ reputation. They were proud of the name even though neither of them were born with it.
Tuesday swallowed more milk. “Why is he doing this? He knows I don’t have the slightest fuckin’ idea of what I’m doin.’ Most of the time I’m just sittin’ in my office, looking stupid and signing shit I barely understand.”
“It was his decision,” Brandon said, breaking himself off a piece of her cookie. “It’s not like he listens to me. Just made me pour another hundred million into the scholarship program. I told him it would kill our third quarter profits but I’m just the puppet; we both know who pulls the strings.”
Being in charge was something Tuesday never wanted. When she first came to California, Marcus hadn’t just set Tuesday up with a new identity; he gave her a job in his company. It was an advisory position that basically allowed her to collect a six-figure salary with no actual responsibility. In fact, Tuesday never had to even show up at the office.
Then after years of allowing Brandon to run the company while Marcus played the background, he stepped in and made Brandon hand the reins over to Tuesday and demoted Brandon to executive vice president. The old man didn’t think it was wise and Tuesday was in full agreement but for some reason Marcus had insisted.
She said: “The only business I ever ran was a booty club and it did so bad I still had to rob niggas on the side. Why in the hell does he think I can handle running a big ass corporation?”
“Do you remember the very first conversation you and I had? It was when I picked you up from that police station just as he was going on the run.”
Tuesday remembered. It was three years ago, her last night in Detroit. The feds had held her for an entire day sweating her about Marcus but she gave up nothing. When she saw the suave assassin pull up in that Maybach, Tuesday had first thought Brandon was there to kill her.
“One of the first things I told you about my boss is to never try to figure him out,” he reminded her. “You’ll never be able to do it and you’ll only drive yourself crazy in the process.” Brandon playfully nudged her with his shoulder and Tuesday smiled because he was right.
“He been actin’ weird lately,” she said, serious again. “It’s something he ain’t tellin’ us.”
“Of course there’s something he’s not telling us,” the elder said laughing. “Did you forget who he is?”
Tuesday understood that her husband was better than most at keeping secrets. He had survived the game at the highest level for over two decades by being clandestine. Sebastian Caine had done business only through intermediaries; buyers and suppliers never got to see his face. Even the people within his organization never dealt with him directly. This was how he eventually became known as The Invisible Man.
Brandon pecked her cheek then stood to leave. “And if I gotta’ sit through those meetings bored out my mind then you do too. If he asks, tell ’em I got on your back about not showing up.”
Tuesday agreed that she would.
Even though he wasn’t Marcus’s real father, Brandon had come to be a father figure to her. He was the one who held down Tuesday and Danielle that first year. She was pregnant with Tanisha while Marcus was running from a federal indictment. Since then, Brandon had served as a sounding board and counselor.
She sat there a while longer thinking, relishing the combination of chocolate, walnut and brown sugar. Despite the warning, she couldn’t help but try to understand why her husband would hand over his Fortune 500 company to a woman who didn’t attend high school. Even Tuesday didn’t think her pussy was that good. She sensed some angle Marcus was working just beyond her comprehension. Either Brandon couldn’t see it either or was in on it and just role-playing. She couldn’t decide which.
After the final cookie, she made sure to wipe the crumbs from her lips.
Chapter Three
Tuesday entered the family room to find her husband on the sofa and Danielle on the one that sat adjacent. Like most nine-year-olds, Danielle’s attention was consumed by her phone. Tuesday didn’t know if she was texting a friend or playing a game.
“Dani, I’m so sorry I missed your thing but—”
The girl just stood up and brushed past Tuesday before she could finish the apology. Danielle left the room without saying a word. She didn’t even throw Tuesday a “fuck-you” glance.
Whether justified or not, Tuesday felt totally disrespected by that and started to go after her until she was held up by Marcus.
“You might wanna give that a minute,” he said, never looking up from his book. “After the way you left her hangin’ today, she straight on you right now.”
“I get she’s mad but damn, to just walk off while I’m trying to talk to her is some other shit! I’m out here running errands and looking at real estate and just got caught up.”
Marcus