Never Too Late

Excerpt

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Chapter 1

Rowyn

“Stop,” she said with more insistence this time. Her smile never faltered—it was the practiced smile she slipped on the moment her shifts at The Corporation started every other weekend.

“Now, you know that’s not supposed to be your response,” the guy replied. He’d been sitting at the same corner table in the Serendipity Suite for the past two hours.

Rowyn had seen him in here before and thought he was just like the other rich men who chose to chill in this quiet room drinking and smoking their cigars before or after getting into whatever they planned to do at the exclusive sex club. There were three levels in the Washington D.C. dwelling—eight private apartments, two pleasure suites, a two-hundred capacity meeting space and, located on the lower level, an exhibition stage with viewing area.

The Corporation was a sexual playground curated for the rich and influential. But, for Rowyn, it was also the part-time job that was going to help dig her out of the financial hole she was presently buried in.

“And you know all requests for companions should be coordinated through the hostess,” she replied and placed the third vodka on the rocks he ordered on the table in front of him. “I believe Yazmine is at the front desk this evening.”

Just as she said those last words and was about to ease back from the table to leave him there, she felt his hand on her outer thigh.

Servers at the Corporation were required to wear all black dresses that both covered and simultaneously accentuated their assets. Tonight, Rowyn wore an off the shoulder bandage dress that stopped just short of displaying her ass cheeks and made her full C cup breasts look like voluptuous double D’s.

“I’m not on the menu,” she said, trying to keep her voice and facial expression in the friendly range. Instead of telling him to back the fuck off before she punched him in the throat.

She would most certainly lose her job at that point and probably be charged with assault. Even though, she could leverage those charges right back at this old, balding asshole.

“If you’d like another drink, or perhaps a companion for the evening, I can have someone put in a call to Yazmine for you.” She attempted to back away at that point, but he gripped her thigh tighter, holding her in place.

“Nah, pretty lady, I’m satisfied with you.” He grinned, his straight white teeth and bearded chin doing nothing to make that disgustingly lustful gaze in his eyes more acceptable.

This time, she used the tray she’d carried his drink on, as a barrier between them. She pushed it down in front of her until it bumped against his outstretched arm. Then she stepped back with one leg anchoring herself so she could apply more strength to pull the other leg from his hold. “And like I just mentioned, I’m just a server. I’ll send someone else your way to assist with your other needs for the evening.”

She turned to leave before he could say another word or reach for her again. Or at least she hoped he wouldn’t reach for her again. There was no way she was going to be able to resist cursing him all the way out this time. Thankfully, he’d let her go in peace because she needed this damn job. Needed it like she needed the gulps of air she took as she made her way to the bar.

“You okay, Bright Eyes?” Ricky, tonight’s bartender asked.

He was a tall, lanky man with low-cut reddish hair that matched the freckles marching over his nose and cheeks. His very heavily creamed coffee complexion was a shade or two lighter than her caramel one and he talked with a slight southern accent that she found endearing. He was one of her favorites to work with, which is probably why she allowed him to call her by a nickname instead of demanding he use her given one.

“Yeah,” she replied with a roll of her eyes as she placed the tray on the bar top and leaned against it. “But we might need to think about cutting Mr. Grabby Hands off for the night.”

Ricky nodded. “I was about to send Sonni over there to handle him, when I saw you taking care of it. But I’m gonna send a note to admin reporting his behavior tonight.”

Sonni was one of the many security guards at the Corporation. Rowyn rarely ever saw the tall, burly man, but she knew he was always lurking in one of the dark corners of this room. Just as the other members of the security team kept their distance throughout the facility. But there was no pleasure room that didn’t have security. The hallways to the private apartments each had a guard and there were plenty of cameras in the common areas of the facility. The only place they didn’t have cameras were the private apartments because the members who occupied those paid a pretty penny for extra privacy. Still, if some shit went down in there that went against the Corporation guidelines, security would no doubt find out about it and handle it accordingly.

Since she’d only been working here for the last four months, she had no clue what actions would actually be taken, but she’d learned from Ricky, that Harper, the manager of this branch, and the higher ups of this national club didn’t play about safety being a top priority.

“I don’t know what he didn’t understand about me not being on the menu. I’ve served him before, so I know he knows the rules,” she said.

“Some of these assholes don’t give a fuck about the rules, B. They think the amount of zeroes in their bank accounts allow them to do whatever they want behind these walls,” he said, using yet another nickname for her.

To anyone else, it might sound way too familiar, but to Rowyn it wasn’t a big deal. She looked at him like a big brother and figured he saw her the same way. Especially since he’d never hit on her the way Mr. Grabby Hands just had. Due to the nature of the business conducted inside these walls, there weren’t any no-fraternization rules, just the firm understanding that employees were to never use the private apartments or get into it during their work hours. Other than that, if it was what they both wanted, she and Ricky could have a thing.

But Rowyn didn’t want a thing. Not with Ricky or any other man for that matter. Life had been a cruel teacher by putting people in her life that she’d loved unequivocally and then snatching those people out of her life without remorse. Losing her mother, brother and father—albeit at different times in her life—had been a traumatic experience for her. Each loss building another layer of defense around her heart until she only had room for the love she held for her remaining family members—her cousin Nessa, Nessa’s four-year-old son, Montray and Nessa’s mother, Aunt Peaches.  There were a few more relatives on the Tyler side of her family but she’d never been that close to them. As for her father’s side of the family, well they were all still angry that Durrell Blackstone had left everything he had—the life insurance policies and the apartment building—to her. For some reason they hadn’t thought his only living child should get anything. Or perhaps it was just that they didn’t think she should’ve gotten all of it, whatever, she didn’t care either way.  And they could stay mad until she passed and was put into the ground, at which time they would only grow angrier to learn that she wasn’t leaving them a dime either.

Of course she didn’t have any children to leave her wealth too. And, come to think of it, she didn’t have any wealth. Blackstone Terrace, a building located in the Turner Station area of Baltimore, consisted of 101 mixed-income housing units and was on its way to foreclosure. Which was why she, as the sole owner and general manager of the building, was working a second job to keep her father’s legacy from falling into the hands of the city government.

“Hey? You listening to me?” Ricky gave her shoulder a little shake and she blinked to see that he’d come from around the other side of the bar to where he now stood right beside her.

“What? Oh, I’m sorry,” she said with a shake of her head. “My mind is all over the place tonight.”

It had been for the last six months when she’d first been advised of just how precarious her financial situation was. Racking her brain daily to come up with the money to not only catch up on the mortgage, but to also figure out a way to finance the much-needed renovations and re-design to the building, was the new norm for her. Funneling most of the paychecks she received as general manager right back into the building was starting to take a toll on her personal finances as well. So, to say she had enough stress on her plate without having to deal with unwanted advances by some sex-crazed old man was an understatement.

“Yeah, I’ve noticed that on your last few shifts you haven’t really been like yourself,” he said. “Is there something I can do to help?”

He was still standing close, but he’d dropped his hand from her shoulder and she shook her head. “Nah. It’s fine. I’ll get through this just like I’ve gotten through everything else.”

He nodded. “Yeah, I know. Black women can handle it all. But you know, you shouldn’t have to. At least, not by yourself.”

Rowyn held up a hand. “Please don’t tell me I need to find a man to take care of all my problems for me. I don’t even want to hear that nonsense.” Because truth be told, her father had gotten them into this debt by taking out that second mortgage on the building and never telling her about the huge contracts he’d signed for construction and code violations that should’ve been paid by the city.

The lawsuit she’d brought against the city was another mountain of stress entirely. And when Ricky only chuckled and told her she had another drink order ready, she gave him a small smile. Then she wished she could gulp down each one of the whiskey sours that had been requested herself.

Niko

His first reaction was to get up from his seat, walk across the room and break every one of Lyle Roberson’s fingers that had touched Rowyn.

Niko had literally had to command his feet to remain still. He’d clenched his fists so tightly if he had anything other than the blunt-tipped nails courtesy of the nail tech his assistant, Delray, booked to come to his penthouse along with his barber every other Friday, they would’ve broken through his skin.

Lyle was a dirty muthafucka on a good day. A casino owner who not only scammed the city out of profits, but who also kept a few very young women as something like his personal harem on his compound in Largo, Maryland. Now, those women weren’t underage, but they were barely legal and child-like in comparison to his seventy-three-year-old ass. If Lyle thought for one minute, he was about to add Rowyn to that list, he was sorely mistaken. Niko would burn that bastard’s house and casino down to the ground then slit his miserable throat first.

But instead of making a scene in Harper’s very fine establishment, he simply sent a text to his brother and knew the situation would be handled. Niko had known Harper Grant since they were both mentors at the Randolph B. Mayer Recreation Center in the Turner Station neighborhood where they’d grown up. While Harper had stayed local to attend college and obtain his degree in hospitality, Niko had gone out west where he’d met and befriended former NFL player, Slay Turner. Slay had since become the manager of the Corporation in London. The world really was small as hell since Slay was the one who’d gotten Niko to apply for membership to the club, only for Niko to later learn that one of his other close friends was running a club just forty-five minutes from their hometown. So, whenever Niko was home, he visited the D.C. location.

He had recording studios in Baltimore and in Atlanta, so he frequently traveled back and forth between the two locations.

But back to her…

Rowyn Blackstone.

She looked exactly like he remembered her, fine as fuck. And young as fuck. And the sister of one of his former mentees. The one he’d lost.

The stabbing pain in his chest that still came twenty years after Jamal Blackstone had lay on the front steps of his family home and died, never dulled. Whenever he let himself revisit that dark night, Niko still felt the pain as if it were happening all over again.

Rowyn had been twelve years old when she’d first come into the rec center with her older brother. Her hair had been in braids and she’d sat on the bleachers doing her homework while Jamal did layups and reluctantly talked to Niko about his home and school life. Niko had been twenty-three at the time, a year into the MBA program he’d decided to enroll in at the last minute, and home for the summer. He’d signed up to be a mentor first and foremost because he’d wanted to give back to his neighborhood, to do something for the young Black men that everybody forgot about until it was time to throw cuffs on them and toss them into a cell. His guidance counselor had also told him it would look good on his resume especially if he began applying to become a teacher, which Niko had never planned to do. His mind had always been on music. The college degree in education was for his father and he’d obliged because he’d been able to minor in music and take some business classes at the same time.  The MBA program was in preparation for his dream of owning his own label one day.

That day was now.

And Rowyn was still fine.

The cute little twelve-year-old he’d met two months before her big brother was killed, had been a sad teenager each time he’d checked in on her in the years following that dark night. It wasn’t until he’d returned home for the holidays and attended the annual Christmas basket giveaway at the rec center, that he’d noticed Rowyn in a totally different way. In the weeks that he’d mentored Jamal, she’d been the little sister that Jamal wanted to protect from everything in this wicked world and that Niko had come to care about her in the same way. So, when Jamal passed, Niko swore he’d continue to lookout for Rowyn and to protect her from any and everything. That thought had guilt biting at him because he knew that in the past thirteen years while he’d been building his music empire, he’d neglected that promise. He’d been neglecting a lot of things in that time.

Rowyn had been twenty years old that long ago Christmas, a sophomore at Coppin studying psychology. He’d been thirty-one at the time. And suddenly the cute little girl he’d once known and swore to protect had blossomed into a young woman with curves. Like, a nice round ass, palm-sized breasts and a fuckin’ pretty ass face. Her beauty had hit him like a sucker punch to the gut and he’d had to quickly gather his senses when she’d run over to hug him the way she always did. He’d scooped her up into his arms and spun them both around, just like he’d done each time he saw her. But on this day, she felt different in his arms. Softer, lusher and enticing. And she’d smelled good as hell too. He’d buried his face in her shoulder-length curls and inhaled deeply, trying to dedicate the scent to memory.

Then, he left. He’d gone back to Atlanta and continued to build 40A Records to the multi-million dollar and award-winning studio it was today.

“Do you need another drink, Mr. DiLaurentis?”

A woman’s voice jolted him out of his reverie, and he glanced up at the server who had been working this front area of the room. Coming to the club tonight was a last-minute decision. He’d had a meeting with Jamie Jareau, his A&R rep about two new artists they were considering approaching. They’d set the meeting at a hotel near the National Mall since Jamie was staying there for a few days to visit a woman he was dating who lived in the area. Niko wholeheartedly believed in love, so he’d agreed to come down for the meeting.

This room wasn’t really his speed when he frequented the club, but he’d need a few minutes of quiet to wrap his mind around the reports they’d received from their PI on one of the artists.

“No. I think I’m good,” he said to the cute mocha skinned woman with the big ass titties. “Hey, can you get a message to Yazmine for me?” he asked.

“Sure,” she replied. “Do you want to write something down, or do you just want me to get her on the house phone?”

“Nah, I got it,” he said and reached into the inside pocket of his jacket to pull out a pen. He took one of the napkins she’d set on the table a few minutes earlier and wrote his request on it. Folding the napkin, he handed it to her. “I need you to take this downstairs to her. Now, please.”

The server took the napkin from him but frowned when she said, “I’m on shift. I have all these tables to service.”

When he returned the pen to his inside pocket, he’d retrieved his wallet. Now, he extended a one-hundred-dollar bill to the server and repeated, “Now.”

She accepted the money and nodded before turning to walk away. He stood and left the quiet of the Serendipity Suite with only one thing on his mind: Rowyn Blackstone.

end of excerpt