Other People's Business. Pamela Yaye

giving his head a good shake. But the sight of trim, shapely legs crossing just inches from his face seconds later, made his mind wander down the road once again. He was definitely a leg man and this woman had a pair that could rival any Las Vegas showgirl’s. He was so caught up in his appraisal of her physique that he didn’t feel the wrench slip from his hands. The clatter snapped L.J. back into the here and now. Smiling away his embarrassment, he retrieved the wrench from the blistering pavement and went back to work.

      Forcing himself to concentrate, L.J. worked for the next ten minutes without incident. He tightened the bolts and then kicked the tire to ensure it was secure and the pressure was adequate. He returned to the trunk, and once the young woman had clicked it open with her key remote, he heaved the damaged tire inside. At last, finished, L.J. dusted his hands, wiped them across the front of his shorts, and announced, “All done, miss. You can be on your way now.”

      Autumn almost broke into song. If I rush, I can still make it to the party on time, she thought. Grateful to him for all his help, she reached into her purse and pulled out her wallet. It wouldn’t be right to leave without giving the stranger something for his troubles. He had practically saved her life. Besides, he looked like he could use a helping hand. Autumn held out a crisp twenty-dollar bill. “Thanks. I know it’s not much, but it’s all I have.”

      “Save your money,” he advised, repositioning his worn-out baseball cap. “It was no problem, really. I’m just glad I could be of some help.” Taking in her oval-shaped face and clear complexion, L.J. wondered how God could give so much beauty to one woman. He didn’t know if her skin had a natural glow or if the heat magnified it, but he was enraptured all the same. Her expressive eyes twinkling in the reflection of the sun dazzled him, but it was her cheek-to-cheek smile which made his breath catch in the walls of his throat.

      Autumn shoved the money into his hands. “If I’d been at the mercy of roadside assistance, there’s no telling when they would have showed up. I wouldn’t feel right leaving without giving you something as a token of my appreciation.”

      “I can’t take your money, miss.”

      “But, I have to give you something,” she stressed.

      “Then give me your phone number.”

      Autumn’s eyes flickered. “Pardon me?”

      L.J. cleaned his hands on the sides of his shorts again. He put on his most charming smile, stuck out his right hand and introduced himself. “My friends call me L.J.”

      Disregarding his grimy hands and his outlandish request, Autumn slipped back on her Jackie O-inspired sunglasses. She was in no mood for idle chitchat, but she couldn’t be flat-out rude, either. After all, he had saved her. “Well, thanks again for your help, L.J.,” she said, trying out his name. “My best friend would have crucified me if I had missed her party.” She started to walk away, but stopped. Glancing over her shoulder, she asked, “Are you sure you won’t take the money?”

      L.J. nodded. He didn’t need her money, but he wouldn’t mind taking her out. Nothing fancy. Maybe drinks at a nice bar or a quiet dinner. Not ready to let her go without the possibility of reconnecting, he asked, “What’s your name?”

      Annoyed and uninterested, Autumn wanted to say, but instead told him she really had to go. She had an unruly stomach to feed and a party to get ready for, all in the next hour. Anxious to be on her way, Autumn began the trip back to her car. “Thanks. Bye.”

      L.J. tugged the tip of his hat forward. He eyeballed her as she rushed over to her car. The swish of her shapely hips was mesmerizing. Ms. Flat Tire had a tight body and a face worthy of gracing magazine covers, but she was much too thin for his taste. L.J. liked his women the way he liked his steak: thick and juicy. But it was the first time in months that a sister, or any woman for that matter, had piqued his interest.

      Don’t go there, he chided himself, ripping his eyes away from the curvature of her butt. These D.C. women are all the same. A bunch of uppity snobs. And Ms. Flat Tire was no different. She drove an expensive car, wore enough sparkly jewellery to require her own personal bodyguard and didn’t look like she had worked a day in her life. Probably some poor schmuck’s girlfriend, he decided as her car merged back into traffic.

      L.J. didn’t know why he had wasted his time trying to step to her anyway. The last thing he needed was to get involved with someone like her. That was how he had landed himself in troubled waters the last time. Chasing a sister with a pretty face and a banging body without knowing who she was or what she was about, was just inviting heartache and strife.

      When L.J. returned to his truck and turned the key in the ignition, it coughed like a senior with a serious case of bronchitis. He pounded the gas until the engine came to life. Two intersections later, he pulled up beside a two-door Infiniti. L.J. couldn’t resist peeking inside. It was Ms. Flat Tire. She smiled politely before returning her eyes to the road ahead.

      L.J. didn’t want her to think he was sweating her, so he fiddled with the radio. He bobbed his head up and down as though he was jamming to an infectious hip-hop beat rather than a weepy Whitney Houston song. When the light turned green, her car lurched forward, leaving his sick truck and the other vehicles in her wake. The Infiniti disappeared into the sea of traffic and L.J. couldn’t help wondering where she was racing off to. What do you care? his conscience prodded. He didn’t. Women as a whole were a pain, but the ones in D.C. were a migraine. The opposite sex had caused him nothing but trouble and he’d had enough trouble to last a lifetime.

      Chapter 2

      The Grisbey estate sat on two acres of impeccable grounds in the most desirable and prosperous neighborhood in all of Washington, D.C. The breathtaking landscape of Kalorama, which sat upon a rugged hill above Dupont Circle, housed attractive and luxurious homes. Tree-lined streets, broad sidewalks and the relative peace and isolation from the rest of the city made Kalorama home to Washington’s most privileged families. The residents were as refined as age-old china and the stench of new money hung in the spring air like a November fog.

      Autumn trailed the procession of luxury cars crawling through the wrought-iron gates. The sight of the ten-bedroom, eight-bathroom palatial home never ceased to amaze her and she had been visiting the Grisbey home for years. The modern-day castle had every imaginable comfort: a world-class, fully equipped gymnasium complete with a workout room, a fifty-seat theater and game room, a commercial elevator and an Olympic-size swimming pool. Melissa’s mother, Janet, was the most sought-after interior decorator on the east coast and she had converted her home to a showcase of the best decor money could buy. The sumptuous furniture, the light fixtures and marble flooring had been imported from Venice; the warrior sculptures and vibrant oil paintings shipped from a tiny South African village and the outsized Oriental hand-made rugs purchased in Hong Kong. The Grisbey estate, which had recently been featured on Martha Stewart Living, was rumored to be in the ballpark of ten million dollars.

      After parking on the outskirts of the sprawling lawn, Autumn locked the car doors and headed into the backyard. The smell of freshly cut grass and the gracious chatter of fashionably dressed guests greeted her as she proceeded down the walkway. Autumn accepted a fruity cocktail from one of the suit-clad servers and made her way over to Yvette Albright, the third member of Autumn and Melissa’s friendship trio.

      Yvette was unhappily married to a police detective whom she claimed to still love. Her nine-year marriage had produced three adorable daughters, ranging in age from four to seven.

      “You’re late.” Yvette gave Autumn a peck on the right cheek. “Why do you look as if you were in a street brawl? Fix your face into a smile before Melissa sees you,” she warned. Noting Tyrell’s absence she queried, “Where’s your man?”

      Autumn didn’t answer.

      “What did he do this time and how long will it be before you go running back to him?” Yvette asked sourly.

      Autumn didn’t know if she could discuss what had happened with Tyrell without getting worked up, but she could always count on Yvette to be straightforward