Day and Night Ch. 06

Hey People!

Whew. Has it been a while or what? All I'm saying is it's amazing what having bronchitis will do for someone's writing abilities. Might make you feel like absolute trash, but there's literally nothing else to do besides write. So write I did!

For the commenters, THANK YOU! Seriously. When I get an email with one of you demanding—Yes! DEMANDING—the next Day and Night/Flirting the Fence chapter, it whips me into a frenzy. I need motivation like that because I need just a smidge of validation to do any work. Yes, it's a problem. No, I'm not likely to change.

So, this is a rough chapter. And I mean rough-rough. I'm editing it by myself with no editor (I need one of those) and I'm sick. Keep that all in mind. Sick brain wrote 80% of this so take that as you will.

Final updates: if you haven't read Amani Part 1 and 2 yet, I encourage it! It's my foray into threesomes and M/M. Tilly is also done. Yes, done. And I'm editing it for real. Part 1 of Vera is also done. I'm also editing that and will be posting it again. I'm horrible at finishing things (as if you couldn't tell) but I swear I'm working on it.

Lately I've been on a literary kick, writing non-erotica stuff with depth and other bullshit. But honestly, I kinda want to get back to cocks and cunts (That's not this chapter though, sorry!). Eventually.

Okay, I'm rambling because, again, sick-brain. I hope you enjoy this latest chapter of Day and Night. I'm thinking of posting the 1st version, unedited, all the way through but I'm really not in love with it. Still, if y'all are chomping at the bit to know how the original ended (HEA. Not a spoiler) then I'll be happy to repost.

-RSP

***

CHAPTER SIX

"You musta lost your Goddamn mind," his assistant, Stephanie, hissed the second Day entered his office, striding across the sound-absorbing carpet toward him like she owned the damn place.

Day froze, hand still in the act of pushing the door wide. He slowly stepped through the opening and let the heavy glass door whoosh softly shut beside him. He raised an eyebrow and Stephanie took a wise step back. "You're a second from getting fired, Ms. Wilkins."

Whatever deference she'd displayed was gone in a second with her scowl. "Well, you're a hairbreath from losing your position because you're fucking the fiancé of Jason Brucksworth, Davon."

"Who?"

A tablet was shoved under his nose with a blown up image of Beth, Brian, and him out grocery shopping that morning. It was time stamped 30 minutes ago, the headline reading: Is Cinderella Trading Her Prince For a King?

Before he could even read the article, Stephanie swiped her finger and another popped up. Another innocuous image taken out of context with a salacious headline splattered across, time stamped 15 minutes ago. "There are more," Stephanie said, "But you get the point."

Day slowly walked toward the monstrosity that was his desk. A straight up power move, but one he'd insisted on. Previously retained by a slave owner, the very day he'd purchased the desk Day fucked Shotell on it.

His eyes went from the desk to the tablet in his hands, his thoughts shifting from his late wife to his current... obsession. The word didn't feel quite right, but girlfriend was too cute a term and partner was—No. Just no. There was nothing outwardly scandalous, nothing that pointed to inappropriate conduct. But that was only at first glance. If someone started a second longer—at his hand around her waist, her slender fingers curled around his son's hand—they wouldn't see strangers or even friends. Family.

Day couldn't help the possession that flared inside of him as he slipped into the leather seat behind his desk. In every angle of every shot they looked like any other family and that made him proud. Beth fit. Easily. Like she was made—not just for him—but for his family and all their scars and their baggage and heartache.

"Please tell me that they're wrong," Stephanie seethed, perfectly manicured nails dragging across the wooden desk. "Tell me it's not what it looks like."

"And what does it look like?" Day tossed back, glancing up at her.

"I've known you too long for word games, Day. I'm not just your P.A., I'm your friend."

She was right. He owed her more than evasions. "It's exactly what it looks like. Now tell me the damage."

"P.A.," she corrected. "Not P.R. I've already called Will and sent him the articles. He might be the company P.R. head but it's worth a shot."

"Is it that serious?"

Stephanie plopped on top of the desk, but another carefully raised eyebrow had her moving to one of the chairs across from his desk. "Elizabeth McNair is the fiancé of Jason Brucksworth. Old money. They have some Lion King type-shit with their hands in oil, tobacco, pharmaceuticals, insurance and other things I'm sure I don't even want to know about. Think a few steps under the Sackler family."

If he'd wanted any semblance of a half-decent day, it flew out the window with those words. He hadn't known who Beth was, but as Stephanie went over the shitstorm on his doorstep, Day began to understand more about the woman sleeping in his bed, making breakfast for his son, sharing childhood secrets... Day'd gotten to learn a Beth, but he hadn't learned about the Beth. His relationship was a twitchy finger on a hairpin trigger because she wasn't just some woman he'd helped and her ex wasn't just some asshole. Investments, names, careers, and hard earned cash was now mixed in with his personal life.

"I'm leaving," Day said abruptly, interrupting Stephanie. "Reschedule—"

"You can't."

"I am."

Stephanie's lips thinned, knuckles turning white as she balled her fists. "You like to believe you're still that kid from the block. That you're not a multimillionaire who runs a fucking conglomerate. You wanna be Black in the streets and colorless everywhere else. But it doesn't work that way and we both know it."

"Your point. Get there."

"There's nothing powerful white men hate more than powerful Black men fucking their women. You can't have her and power." She jabbed a finger in his direction. "It's one or the other."

"You're stepping across a line, Stephanie," Day said, voice soft but clear. "Leave."

Expression thunderous with her lips pursed into a white line, she nodded once before turning on her heel and exiting.

The sigh he let out was bone deep. "Fuck." Saying that this hadn't been the plan was beyond an understatement. His company, reputation, and livelihood were on the line because of a woman. No, not just a woman, but a white woman; not looking at how her race played into all of it was a foolish move. Day was no fool.

Snatching up the tablet, he spent the next half hour scouring for all information on Beth C. McNair. He'd had her license in his hand, her body in his bed. She'd been video chatting with his son for a week and he didn't know the first thing about her in the world outside of his home. Day didn't doubt she'd been authentic with them. If the pictures said anything, with Day and his son she was most herself. The cool, nearly mannequin-like person poised beside the All American White boy of her ex looked fake, a caricature of a human woman.

"Couldn't have given me a heads up?" Will asked in lieu of a greeting, coming into Day's office like he owned the place.

"Is this going to be a new trend? Accosting the boss?" Day rumbled, tearing his eyes away from the tablet and toward the man striding toward him. "Because I have to say, I'm not enjoying it."

"I know you don't follow Page Six. I get that," Will murmured, some of his British lilt shining through with his irritation. He took a seat across from Day, "But this is like Prince Harry and Meghan Markle big for our city. The story with the Brucksworth heir and little miss nobody was front page news for weeks. Their engagement was remarked on by several foreign nationals. You, Mr. West, are a moderately well-known CEO. But you know which books sell the most? Spoiler alert: it's nothing in the business section."

"And?"

"Are you fucking her?"

Day stiffened, fingers curling into fists as his mutinous gaze focused on Will. But his PR rep sat back completely unfazed.

"I'll take that as a yes." His sardonic tone infuriated Day even more. "You're going to need to stop."

Day was thoroughly done with this shit. It was barely nine in the fucking morning and his personal life was being dissected and deemed lacking by everyone. "Whom I choose to share my home with—"

"At the cost of your reputation," Will interrupted, one of only a handful of people who could pull that and come away unscathed. "They'd tear down your business, of course, but that could be rebuilt. You're more than capable. No, we're talking about your brand, your name." He sighed gustily, crossing and uncrossing his legs. "She's not worth it."

"Says who?"

Day took perverse pleasure at seeing Will's eyes bulge. "Is her pussy made of gold?"

"Careful."

Will heeded the warning by a hair. "I will personally make it my mission to find another white socialite for you to play house with. Because if you go down this road it's not only your name that's affected. Think of your employees, Davon."

This was what made Will an obscenely good P.R. person. He knew to hit where it hurt. Before Day could respond, his cell phone vibrated in his pocket.

Beth: I'm going to check into a hotel.

The fuck she will. It was terrifying how easy the image of Beth—naked, wet, and chained to his bed—popped into his mind. Day took a deep breath, ignoring the worrying glances Will shot in favor of not doing something that would get him locked up with the key thrown away.

Day: No.

Beth: This wasn't me asking.

Day: No.

It was a long, tense minute before he received her next message.

Beth: You know I'm right.

"That's her, isn't it?" Will remarked quietly, making every muscle in Day's body clench. Leaning forward, he snatched the piece of plastic out of Day's hand and read through the texts. "She's not dumb, I'll give her that."

"Get out."

Will's eyebrows shot clear up as Day's mild irritation turned thunderous in a second. Hands held up placatingly, Will left the room without another word.

Day didn't spare a single thought as he hit the call button on his phone and waited for Beth to pick up.

"Day, it's—"

"No." The word was finite, a verbal etching into stone.

Beth was silent on the line, only the ever chaotic noise of the city carrying through. Day leaned back in his chair, content to wait her out.

"Why?"

Rubbing the back of his neck, he chose his next words carefully. "You're worth it."

Her sharp intake of breath was laced with denial, with the reverberations of a woman who hadn't yet discovered her worth. "You don't know that."

"I do."

Silence again. Day smiled. Despite the shit storm that would be his day, talking to Beth made it better—didn't matter the topic. "Can you pick up Brian?"

"I'm not authorized—"

"You will be." He paused. "He gets out at 2:20. I'll send you the address."

"W-what if I'm photographed again?"

"Just make sure you're smiling."

***

"We have everything we need, Beth," Detective Daniels finished, closing the already thick file and setting her pen down on the metal desk between them. "We appreciate your cooperation."

Beth glanced at her watch. Half past one. "Not at all. I was happy to help."

"Will you be staying in the apartment we dropped you off at last time? In Harlem?"

"Yes."

"With a Mr. West?"

Smile tight, Beth laced her fingers and leaned across the desk. "How does this pertain to the case?"

Her phone had been buzzing with notifications. She'd set an alert any time her full name was mentioned, and today it was being mentioned a lot. It took just one instance of Beth's name beside Day's to make her freak. The media had his name; It was only a matter before everything he worked for was in jeopardy. She refused to put Day in that position. Or she tried. But the man was granite, immoveable.

"May we speak candidly, Beth?"

"Isn't that what we've been doing this whole time?"

Detective Daniel's smile didn't reach her eyes, and Beth wondered if the same polite but guarded expression the other woman wore was on her own face. It was a mask cultivated during dinner parties, at soirees standing around engaging in small talk. It was cunning married to disdain with just a hint of aplomb.

Beth hated it. Hated that in wanting to chase some big city romance dream she'd lost a piece of her humanity. She pulled back, unlaced her fingers, and dropped her mask. "Yeah. Go ahead."

Daniels did the same thing though it seemed to take more effort, like it wasn't quite the mask she thought it was but something that had fused with her. "You already know about the articles?"

Beth nodded.

"They're just the start. You are semi-famous for being in a relationship with a wealthy man. No matter if you wanted it that way or not, there is no slipping into the background any more, but especially not now given who you've moved onto."

"Because of his race."

Daniels didn't miss a beat. "That and his wealth."

Beth blinked in surprise, leaning back in her chair. "Yeah, no. Day, er, Mr. West isn't wealthy."

The other woman cocked her head, looking at Beth like she was crazy. "Yeah, he is."

"Trust me," Beth argued, recalling the small apartment, worn but clean. It was a working man's apartment. Sure he had a few suits in his closet, but nothing that screamed wealth. No expanse of empty space or perfectly curated pieces to show both nothing and everything. "He isn't."

Slowly, Daniels opened her laptop, fingers skating across the keyboard before turning the screen toward Beth. There was Day. On the cover of Forbes. On the cover of— "Fuck. Is that the Times?"

"I thought you knew. Thought you two met at an event or another."

"No." The word came soft and hesitant, as more pictures of him sprung up. Him in front of his office building, behind his desk, standing next to a stunning black woman with long, braided dreadlocks.

What the fuck? Betrayal sliced at her a second before shame bled into the wound. Who was this man she'd glommed onto? It was ringing of Jason all over again because money corrupted. It just did. Maybe it hadn't been all coincidence that she found herself with him as her knight in shining armor. Maybe it was some twisted sick game the rich played for boredom. It was turning her stomach, making her rethink what had been so clear only moments ago.

A single father trying his best to get by after the death of his wife. That made sense to her. That she understood. A stupidly wealthy man living in a worn apartment in a borough he could have bought multiple streets of. That didn't sit right with her.

Beth looked away from the screen as her phone vibrated, a reminder to leave so she could go and grab Brian from school. She hadn't even glanced at the address Day had texted her but now she did. Now, she looked it up; saw the shiny faces of upper-class children decked out in pressed uniforms and polished leather shoes.

"You okay, Beth?" Daniels said, gently laying a hand on her arm.

Beth jerked away, startled. "Uh, yeah. Of course. I just have to go pick up someone."

The detective gave nothing away as she nodded slowly. "Do you need a ride? I have an unmarked downstairs."

Still out of it, Beth shrugged, muttering a thanks as she gathered her things and followed the detective down the hall to the elevator and then to the parking garage.

"If it's any consolation," Daniels cut in as she unlocked the car door and held it open for Beth. "He made his wealth."

"Huh?"

"West," Daniels expanded, closing the door and skating around the car to the driver's side. "He wasn't born into it," she added as she climbed in. "I'd know."

"Because you were?"

Daniels laughed mirthlessly as she checked her mirrors and backed out. "Born to it. Bred for it. Whole nine yards."

Beth stared out the window, trying to read between the lines. "So how'd you end up here?"

"Anger and naivety," she muttered, navigating her way into traffic. "I saw money as the problem, so I distanced myself from it. Thought I'd change the system from within. Just like every other cog that ends up in a machine."

The other woman glanced sideways at a shocked Beth. "Sorry about that. Got a little too real." Her laugh was self-deprecating now. "What I do is hard, but a lot of it's worth it. Just get bogged down sometimes in the all of it.

"My point is that there's a massive difference between being born into money and earning it. West won't be like Brucksworth. They're not cut from the same cloth, but they could have the same demons. I don't know your type in men, but I know money. Brucksworth doesn't need to be on the covers of magazines or announce to the world he's made it. It's innate. How silly for a fish to say it can swim."

Beth nodded slowly, beginning to understand the other woman's point. "He still should have told me."

Daniels shrugged, saying nothing.

Eventually, they pulled up to the school. Polished brick and manicured lawns. Brian was waiting on the steps in a slightly disheveled uniform beside a cardigan-wearing woman that could have been Beth if she'd taken a different course in college.

"Thanks, Daniels," she muttered, climbing from the vehicle.

The woman sped away without another word, leaving Beth with an itching curiosity of her past that was nearly wiped from her head as Brian bowled into her legs. "Beth!"

"Hey, munchkin," she giggled, reaching down to wrap her arms around his smaller frame. "How was school?"

He shrugged, burying his head further into her pants. Muttered words were pressed into the creases, too low for Beth to catch.

"Ms. McNash?" the woman that had been standing next to Brian piped up, voice taunt. "Can I have a word?"             

Well, that sounds as good as a lead pipe to the head. "Sure." Beth pulled her phone out of her pocket. "Brian, do you know how to order a car with this app?" She showed him the bright pink application on her phone as he nodded. "And you know your address?" Another nod. "Great. Can you order us a car?"

Leaving him to his task, Beth stepped a few feet away to the teacher's side, keeping one eye on the little boy. "Sure."

"My name is Helen Holland. I'm the principal here." Beth nodded for the woman to continue. "Mr. West informed me that he gave you permission to pick up Brian from school moving forward, correct?"

"Yes."

"Hmm, yes." She looked around, fingers picking at the weave in her cardigan. "Brian has been an excellent student, you know," she dithered, looking anywhere but at Beth. "Smart. Kind. Caring. Not like the other boys like him."

"Like him?"

"We don't see race at Middlebrook Montessori, Ms. McNash."

"Who said anything about race, Ms. Holland?" Beth threw back, cultivated mask slipping into place as this woman tried to play a game that Beth had mastered months before through severe trial and error.

"The Brucksworth have just made a rather large donation to the school," the woman finally said slowly. "A gift."

"Ah."

"We believe Brian would feel more comfortable at another school," she rushed on. "Somewhere he can flourish because he is a very smart, kind—"

"Let's cut the shit," Beth cut in icily, softening her tone when Brian glanced her way. She plastered on a smile as he watched her, speaking through gritted teeth. "What did they tell you to tell me?"

"Come home."