China is a successfully businesswoman who worked her way to the top the old-fashioned way; through hard-work, dedication and the retirement of her most precious sexual gem. But she meets Malcolm and he puts her loyalty to the test. Tabitha is a little girl trapped in the body of her imaginary friend, Bobby. But is Bobby really her friend or her abuser? Trampled by love over and over, and bearing the emotional scars to prove it, a women finally finds Mr. Perfect and love but is stood up by the man of her dreams. Will she let this dream be a reality of her former nightmares? And due to checkout at any time, a man's wife is battling cancer. In his mind, she will not be here much longer to hold him and love him the way she had for so many years. Who will be there to love him and motivate him and even console him when she is gone? He lets other ladies ease his mind and stroke his ego among other things. At last . . . my love has come along . . . He just knew they were going to be the next first family until the unthinkable happens. The wife of an over-worked politician has an affair, has a baby outside the marriage and the family is falling apart. In a church world, many secrets surround the sanctuary, primarily in the pulpit. Boggled by guilt, Bishop McFoster wants to reveal his secret, right before offering time, but is shot to death before he can. These collections of short stories, plus more, reveal what happens next in their lives . . . one year later.

52 Weeks and Counting ...

By Ebony Webster

AuthorHouse

Copyright © 2012 Ebony Webster
All right reserved.
ISBN: 978-1-4685-4378-0

Chapter One

AAA (Angry, Ambitious, and Abstinent)

Day 1,095 is the first thought that came to my mind as I put on my Armani Houndstooth jersey skirt with matching jacket. I love the feeling of being successful. I love the feeling of success clothing me. I love the feeling of success! Although the price of success came with the retirement of my precious diamond, it was still worth it. Diamond? My diamond was the ideal gemstone—remarkable clarity, very high polish in color and the cut ... well, to each her own. No, honey, it wasn't cubic zirconia. It was the real deal, Jack! If you haven't gotten it by now, I'm not talking about the diamond you put on your finger. Wink. Yeah, I had to lock up my diamond ... in a safe deposit box. The only person with access was me and whomever I felt deserved the combination. At this point, that was nobody. In fact, it is what got me into so much trouble. Yeah, the diamond was precious, but she was natural. She had natural instincts that meant trouble, trouble, trouble.

I was dressed and ready to go. I sprayed a couple more squirts of my fabulous Emporio Armani Diamonds fragrance. Mmmmmmmm ... success even smells good.

My board meeting was running late because of a few stragglers. Oh, how I hate tardiness! And I refused to start without everyone present. All I need is for someone to say, "I didn't hear that." Or, "I wasn't there when you said that." Talk about something that burns me up inside! So I patiently waited, and one by one, each person entered the room a total of fifteen minutes late. I could tell by their faces they knew I wasn't happy about it. And I'm sure they could tell by mine that I wasn't.

Before my sexual furlough, I was labeled "the carefree manager." Actually, I am the vice president. I was the one who was the most favorite ... the one with whom insubordinates could share personal issues without feeling judged or fearful of their job security. Now 1,095 days in, I am labeled "the slave driver," "the bitch," and the "great dane." Humph. Everyone thought I was angry for some reason. I didn't feel angry. I worked my way to the top the traditional way—with hard work, dedication, and brownnosing. I was thirty-two years old and VP of a very lucrative company with a private staff of twenty-five and a personal assistant. Seriously, you can't tell me I didn't deserve a high-five, pat on the back, thumbs-up, or something. At any rate, I was not angry. Sure, I was on edge at times, frustrated and disgruntled. But what woman wasn't at some point? Business was business, and I refused to let any noncompliant employee stand in the path of my climb. I dared him or her. If the diamond couldn't stand in the way, then nobody could.

During lunch at my favorite corner diner, the thought raced through my mind again. Now 1,095 days! Wooo! Some may have thought it was sad that I would go home and snuggle up to my cold, hard career ambitions every night. I didn't. As I began to erase the thoughts from my mind, a sweet smell whisked across my nose. Well, it wasn't so sweet. It was actually luscious. It was a familiar smell. A very familiar smell. My nose led my eyes to the scent, and that was when I heard the deepest voice I had ever heard in my life. He said, "Is this seat taken?" Bedazzled into his eyes, my mouth could not open. His complexion mimicked the color of French vanilla. One of his parents must be white, I thought. But I could tell he had some type of ethnicity in him because of the texture of his hair. But those eyes—they sparkled like the stars on a clear night. They were piercing ... like the eyes of a kitten, but this man standing fully erect in his stature was no kitten. Not even a cub. Oh, a lion maybe. The king of the jungle. Just then I felt a tingle in between my thighs, one I hadn't felt in 1,095 days!

"Is this seat taken?" he asked again.

I was so mesmerized by his appearance and sweet scent that I hadn't noticed I hadn't yet answered the man. "Yes ... I mean, no."

He took the seat. But on his way down, the top of his collared shirt slowly lifted forward and revealed the top of his chest. Damn. Even his clavicle is sexy! I thought.

"Excuse me for being so forward," he said. "But I saw you walking across the street, and something in me needed to meet you."

I regained my composure. "Why is that?" I asked.

He smirked. "Well, if you would allow me to be blunt—" He paused for an answer.

"Go ahead," I answered.

"There's something about a sister with a walk. I only saw you from behind, but your walk was so demanding and focused. You may not have noticed, but every head turned ... even the women when you walked across the street."

I blushed. I read in an article many years ago that a woman's walk determined her drive and seriousness. Just like a man judged another man's handshake, women judged another woman's walk. It was not so much a stride but a walk of confidence. I practiced it for several years.

He continued, "So I followed you inside to say hello, and hopefully, you can let me buy you a cup of coffee?" He smiled. His teeth were pearly white, and they were the perfect size. Who was this man?

"Sure." That was all I could get out. I had never been taken aback by a man as I was at this very moment. Wait ... I take that back. Yes, I have been. There was Trevor McDonald. He was my first love. We both were juniors in high school. He was the popular boy. All the girls wanted him. Trevor was good-looking, the captain of the football team, and the homecoming prince. I was not as fabulous in high school as I was today, so I knew Trevor wouldn't want a girl like me. But one day, we were in study hall and I was sitting at a table by myself going over my flashcards for my exam, and without an invitation, Trevor came over and took a seat next to me. Much like today with this sexy caramel bar sitting next to me, I felt some type of energy come over me. Not only was Trevor smart and cute, but he also possessed a succulent smell.

"What's up? What you doing?" he had asked.

This had been the first time Trevor had ever spoken to me in our three years of high school, so needless to say, I was shocked by his brazenness.

"Hi," I had said with a sharp tone and a look to match.

"Yo, I've been digging you and wanna know if you want to be my date to homecoming," he had asked then.

Usually, I wouldn't have even entertained a person using such bad grammar, but again, his smell had been so mesmerizing. I will admit the jealous looks of the other girls, especially Stephanie Taylor, pushed me to accommodate Trevor's presence. And I did have a secret crush on Trevor anyway.

"Ummmmmmmmmm," I mumbled.

"Great!" he exclaimed. "Be ready by eight next Saturday."

I remember just sitting there in astonishment yet excitement. Trevor McDonald was digging me! I wondered why he'd never said anything before now. But I thought back to my early high school years and felt that I had really developed physically and mentally. In ninth grade, my chest had been as flat as a checkerboard, and you could literally play "connect the dots" on my face. By junior year, my face was acne-free, and I wore a 32B.

That day, I went home and told my mother that Trevor McDonald had asked me to be his homecoming date. It was just my mother and me. My father split when I was three years old. Last I heard he was in a mental hospital. My mother was excited for me. She had been waiting for the day to dress me up and...