Bro-mance 101 Page 2

  Zhané entered the building and quickly surveyed her surroundings. Earlier in the day, throngs of people might have walked on the slate gray floor or passed by the pastel watercolors decorating the putty colored walls. But right now, the first floor was deserted. She walked past the empty security desk and found a ladies’ room. Once inside, she tilted the old-school electric hand dryer upward to dry her face, then downward to dry her bare legs. After taking a quick look in the mirror to slick her hair into a ponytail and repair the smudged eyeliner that outlined her hazel eyes, she was ready. Her heartbeat thundered in her ears as she stormed down the hallway. It was time to meet Mr. Devlin Hart.

  THREE

  Devlin ended his broadcast the same way each day. “That’s my time, folks,” he spoke into the microphone. “I’m humbled that you took the time to tune into Bro-mance 101, and I’m honored to be your guide in navigating the rough waters of relationships. I’ll be back tomorrow–same time, same line. Don’t Get Got! See ya soon.”

  Ironically, Devlin wasn’t seeing his listeners, but hearing them. His quote had led blog followers to request that he install a web cam or hook up to Skype so listeners could interact visually with him. Maybe one day, but for now, he enjoyed his privacy.

  He closed up shop, shutting down the switchboard, turning the sliders off on the audio console, and logging off the computer program that housed the show’s digital software. He made sure the voicemail recording for Bro-mance 101 was on, and then he grabbed his cell phone and car keys from the desk drawer. He glanced out the window, as he’d done every ten minutes since Ramon left over an hour ago. It was pitch-black outside now. He wished he’d had the foresight to bring an umbrella today. The relentless rain that pummeled the windows outside the station would easily soak the chinos and white t-shirt he wore. At least his leather loafers would hold up.

  Devlin emerged from the sound-proof studio to empty halls. Friday evenings were usually like Grand Central Station around here, but it seemed everyone had bailed in order to avoid the storm. He passed the abandoned offices and made his way to the elevator. Ramon’s office was on the sixth floor, but he hung out on this floor so much, Devlin often joked he should get a bed and put it in the hallway.

  He wondered if Ramon had started his private happy hour yet. Devlin was a social drinker; he really didn’t go out much. He’d rather spend his time on fixer-upper projects. With a thirty-year old house, there was always something in need of repair. A week ago, he’d started preparations to add a back deck. To him, there was nothing more satisfying than smelling fresh lumber and feeling the wood in his hands as he shaped it into something beautiful. All that sawing, drilling, and loud hammering was bound to get on his neighbor’s nerves, but it could be worse. He could be blasting hard core funk music all day long. They just didn’t know how lucky they were. Mr. Heinz, his nosey, elderly neighbor was always asking if Devlin had any girlfriends. Years ago, he went so far as to make a comment that still lingered in Devlin’s mind to this day: ‘You’re not one of them queer boys, are you?’

  Devlin shook his head. That was how rumors got started. People might find it interesting to know that he gave relationship advice, yet he’d been single for five years. Every time he thought about plunging back into the dating waters, he got hives. Women were so demanding. The only ones he felt he could trust were the ones waiting at home for him, his two bull terriers, Sasha and Mika. He rescued both of them from a shelter five years ago–around the exact same time he went through a bad breakup. He guessed he needed his dogs and they needed him.

  Zhané stared at the words engraved on the gold plate on the solid wood door. Ramon Aiello, KLUV Station Manager. The building’s directory indicated that the administrative offices for KLUV were on the sixth floor. She was hoping the man could direct her to Devlin. However, Ramon did not answer her knock. She jiggled the doorknob. Locked. Apparently, that type of luck only worked in the movies when some amateur sleuth accidentally stumbled upon a dead body. Goosebumps bloomed on her bare arms. She didn’t want to find a corpse, although she wouldn’t mind Devlin Hart’s head on a platter.

  She looked around, feeling like an observer in a ghost town. Maybe everyone had gone for the day. Maybe this was a sign that she needed to get her butt home too. A frustrated sigh escaped her lips. She’d come so far only to have the wind let out of her sails. As she stood in the spacious lobby wondering what to do, a loud clap of thunder splintered the air, nearly making her jump out of her four-inch platforms.

  Okay, that’s it. I’m out of here!

  She hurried toward the elevator. The sounds of her heels echoed loudly against the fancy hardwood floors. Executives got all the perks. Even at her company, burgundy Berber carpet lined the floors where the peons sat, while the top floor that housed the V.P.s was laid out in black marble tile. She didn’t dwell on décor. Besides, she didn’t plan to be in her current office for long. Her ambitions were limitless. She couldn’t say what drove her. Maybe growing up with a widowed father who preferred late-night bars to staying home with his three kids was her impetus. After her mother passed away from Cancer, daddy gave up on life and simply drank himself to death.

  Zhané battled against the resurrection of those bad memories, banishing them to the safety of her subconscious. She didn’t want to think about her father right now. She pressed the button to go back down to the first floor. She needed to head straight for her condo. She had a lot of pent-up frustration right now, and she had to unleash it on something. It was a perfect night to slip into her pajamas, play a game of Xbox Saints Row, and shoot up some shit. With the mood she was in, it was either that or call Malik. There was no telling what she’d end up saying to him.

  At last, the elevator arrived. When the steel doors opened, a drop of golden caramel with a chiseled jaw and dark eyes stared back at her. Her breath caught as she soaked in his image. In her line of work, she didn’t run across many fine black men. The view of a living Adonis up-close put her off-balance. In the silence, the only sound she heard was her heart rushing in her ears. Seconds ticked by as she and the stranger quietly appraised each other. His intense eyes quickly flitted the length of her body. Zhané felt self-conscious wondering if she looked as good in her skimpy (albeit damp) black dress as he looked in those khaki pants and snug fitted white t-shirt. She couldn’t help but be drawn to his bronzed skin and rippling muscles–lots of them.

  A neatly-groomed goatee framed his decidedly sexy, full lips. Shoulder-length dreadlocks were pulled back from his face, exposing a gold hoop in one ear. Goodness! Easter had come and gone, but she knew plenty of grown women who wouldn’t have minded having this bit of honey in their Easter baskets. For a few surreal moments, she just stood there basking in his visual appraisal. Then, she remembered her manners and spoke up. “Well,” she asked, “are you coming in or do I have to extend a personal invitation?”

  Devlin watched as eyes the color of amber surveyed his body from head to toe. They were wide-set in a perfectly oval face of a flawless café au lait complexion. Most women appreciated his physique, and this one appeared to be no exception. He watched, amused as she openly inspected him like he was a prime stud at auction. His gaze dropped to her luscious red-lipsticked mouth, which bore the faint traces of a smirk. His groin tightened as he imagined all the wicked things that mouth could do to him. He cautioned men about getting ensnared in the traps of wily women, but he could acknowledge a pretty face just as much as the next hot-blooded male.

  He stepped inside the elevator cab. “Forgive me,” he teased. “I was mesmerized by the view.”

  “Yeah, you and every other man within a five mile radius,” she replied.

  He chuckled. She was confident. And with good reason. The woman was a knock out. From the black platform heels that supported her shapely legs to the curves that hugged the stretchy black dress she wore. This woman with the Halle Berry haircut put the actress to shame. Devlin stood beside her, staring at her silhouette from the corner of his eye. After
his disastrous break-up five years ago, he was still wary of women. But this one might be worth the risk.

  Stop it. You’re being just like those guys that get caught up in the physical attributes of a woman. She could have a disease.

  Or she could be a serial killer.

  Or a serial dater.

  “Looks like we’re the only two in the building,” he said.

  “I noticed. I was hoping to talk with the station manager for KLUV, but I guess I missed him.”

  “You were looking for Ramon?”

  “I–”

  Before she could finish, the elevator lights flashed, and the elevator abruptly jolted to a stop. Devlin’s heart beat double time when the lights in the elevator flickered, then dimmed completely.

  “Uh…what just happened?” the woman asked.

  “I’m not sure.” Devlin reached for the elevator’s emergency phone. “Hello?” he barked into the phone. “Hello? Anybody there?” All he heard was dead air on the other end. He tested the receiver a few more times, and then pressed the alarm button, but nothing lit up when he touched it. “Must be a power outage,” he guessed.

  The woman shifted nervously from foot to foot. “How can that be?”

  Devlin paused in his ministrations to glance at her. “In case you haven’t noticed, lady, there’s a helluva storm brewing out there.”

  Her mask of confidence showed tiny cracks of alarm. He hoped she wasn’t going to cry. He didn’t do well with tears. Instead, she jumped into action, pulling her cell phone from her purse. He watched as she tried to dial out. After a few futile attempts, she gave up. “No signal,” she told him, before shoving her phone back into her bag.

  “Yep. I coulda told you that.”

  One of her finely tweezed eyebrows shot up. “Well, why didn’t you?”

  He shrugged. “I get the feeling you wouldn’t have listened.”

  “You’re right,” she conceded. “Maybe there’s a backup generator in this building.”

  “Maybe,” he agreed. “When these doors open, we can search for it. But by then, we won’t need it.”

  “Jesus.” She dropped her purse onto the floor and let out a long breath. “I knew this was a mistake. I should never have come here, and now I’m being punished.”

  If being stranded in an elevator with a fine ass woman was punishment, he’d take his like a man. “You mentioned you were here to see Ramon,” he prompted. “Are you a friend of his?” Devlin made a note to contact Ramon later and find out how the hell the man knew this vision of loveliness.

  “No, he’s not a friend,” the woman answered. “He was just the means to an end. I was trying to get access to Devlin Hart.”

  Devlin’s heart raced at the mention of his name. What could this beauty want with him? “Are you a fan of Bro-mance 101?” he asked.

  “Hah!” She threw her head back in disbelief. “Me, a fan of that windbag, Devlin Hart? I don’t think so!”

  He tried to hide his scowl. She was trashing his name and he wanted to know why. “What did he ever do to you?” Devlin demanded.

  The fury in her eyes was evident. “He brainwashed my man. Thanks to Devlin Hart, I got unceremoniously dumped–tonight of all nights–on our six month anniversary. I thought my boyfriend was going to propose, but instead, all he can do is quote Devlin Hart, who is obviously a manipulative, loud-mouthed, misogynist. That man destroys relationships.”

  Heat crept up the back of Devlin’s neck. This woman needed to be put in her place, and he was just the man to do it. “Nah, lady. I think you got it all wrong.” He shook his head. “Devlin Hart helps guys avoid the pitfalls of dangerous relationships. He does not destroy them. Instead of blaming him, perhaps you should look at yourself for what you did to contribute to the break up.”

  Her friendly amber eyes had now narrowed to slits of molten lava. She put her hands on her hips and challenged, “What would you know about it? Don’t tell me, you listen to Bro-mance 101.”

  “Not only do I listen,” he gave her a smug grin. “I’m also the host, Devlin Hart.”

  FOUR

  Zhané’s mouth dropped open, and then snapped shut. So, this was the man who had Malik hanging onto his every word. She hadn’t expected Devlin Hart to be so handsome. Maybe that was why he never showed his photo. If women knew the face behind Bro-mance 101, they’d be swarming the station like bees hunting for honey. Still, his good looks didn’t excuse his female-bashing behavior. “I would say it’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance,” she said, “but I’d be lying.”

  He took it in stride, barely blinking at her rudeness. “You know my name. I think it’s only fair I get yours.”

  “Zhané Williams.” She didn’t extend her hand to shake his.

  “You wanted to meet me, Ms. Williams. What did you want to do–curse me out?”

  “Damn straight,” she answered.

  He held his hands out, palms up as if sacrificing himself. “Well, here’s your chance.”

  Zhané paused. Now that she was here, she didn’t know where to start. She hadn’t even rehearsed the conversation. She’d just jumped in her Infinity and barreled down the rain-slicked highway with no regard for her personal safety. If Devlin Hart thought he could intimidate her, he was sadly mistaken. She’d faced bigger bullies in the boardrooms of powerful companies across the city. A talking disc-jockey wasn’t going to make her put her tail between her legs.

  “Why are you staring at me like that?” he asked.

  “I’m imagining your head on a platter.”

  He frowned. “I can’t believe you’re pissed at me because your man left you. Don’t you think his absence could be your fault?”

  “No! It’s definitely because of your meddling. Don’t Get Got. That’s the juvenile shit you tell your listeners. Did it ever occur to you to let people work out things on their own? Who the hell are you to tell someone to leave their woman?”

  “I’m a licensed therapist with a master’s degree in Psychology.”

  “So what? A degree doesn’t make you an expert in relationships. You gave my man the absolute wrong advice, and you acted prematurely without knowing all the facts.”

  “So, you’re saying he broke it off for no reason? You had no other problems?”

  Zhané stopped short.

  Well, not exactly no problems.

  Okay a few.

  But I’ll be damned if I admit that to Devlin Hart!

  “So you did have problems,” he guessed. “You don’t need to say it.”

  “Everyone has problems, Mr. Hart. Conflict is healthy.” She pointed her finger in his face. “Your advice pushed him over the edge.”

  With a subtle nudge, he moved her hand from his face. “Over the edge? Listen to yourself. You are in denial, woman.”

  She was surprised by his gentle touch. Her father told her never to put her hand in a man’s face unless she wanted it slapped. Right now, she was too mad to care. “I’ve seen the evidence of your interference first hand. Does it make you happy to know you destroy relationships?”

  Devlin leaned against the elevator wall furthest from her. “You may as well calm down and have a seat, Ms. Williams. With this storm, it’s obvious we’re going to be here for a while.”

  “First, you’re a psychologist. Now you’re a weather man?”

  “No, the weather man is wrong three times out of five. I’m never wrong.”

  She glared at him, fury rising inside her. “That platter is looking better and better.”

  He shook his head pitifully. “You’re just mad because you know I’m right about your boyfriend, what’s his name?”

  “Malik!” Her anger refused to take a back seat. How dare Devlin stand there talking to her as if he weren’t responsible for her circumstances? “You are an arrogant son of a bitch,” she charged.

  He crossed his muscular arms over his chest; his fitted t-shirt clung to every inch of his chiseled torso. “I prefer the term self-assured. You should be familiar with that
. In fact, you’re so sure of yourself, you can’t see past the truth.” He smirked. “You’re either self-assured or crazy.”

  Zhané choked back a string of colorful words. “Look at me!” she demanded. “Do I look like a crazy woman?”

  He stared back, not batting an eye. “It’s usually the beautiful ones who are crazy on the inside.”

  She swept his backhanded ‘beautiful’ comment under the rug. It was time to set this guy straight. “I’m an educated woman with a career,” she seethed. “I’m a V.P. for an oil and gas company. I volunteer at Big Brothers and Sisters. I’m involved with–”

  “When did you have time for Malik?”

  “Excuse me?”

  “I’m listening to all the things you’ve got going on. When did you have time for him?”

  “Are you insinuating a woman cannot have a career and a healthy relationship?”

  He shrugged his brawny shoulders. “If the relationship was healthy, your man wouldn’t have called into my show to begin with.”

  Zhané stiffened. This man was rude, insensitive, and brash. “How can you get your pants on with balls that big?” she snapped.

  Instead of playing her tit for tat, Devlin pointed back to the facts. “When two people care for each other, they make time to be together. It doesn’t take a rocket scientist to figure that one out. If you put your relationship last, it’ll be the first thing to suffer.”

  Zhané fumed inwardly as she digested Devlin’s remarks. His words were arrows lodging deep inside her heart. Part of what he said was true. She and Malik had so many other priorities they’d drifted apart. In fact, it seemed like lately they’d just been going through the motions. She’d expected him to propose because that’s what people did who’d been dating for six months–they took their relationship to the next level. But was that really what she wanted? She’d driven blindly to dinner tonight and got blind-sighted. She cringed thinking how she’d arrived at the restaurant a few minutes early and presumptuously took the liberty of ordering strawberries and champagne. Her bubble got popped along with the cork.