Chapter One
With a death grip on her cell phone, Morgan Redford sprinted down the quiet hallway as fast as her four-inch Louboutins could carry her. She rushed past the large copy machine and the small conference room before sliding to a stop when she reached her best friend's office.
"Oh, my God, Izzy!" Morgan panted and stumbled into the tuna-can-size space. "I'm so glad you're here. I need your help!"
Isabella bolted from her seat and rounded her desk. "What? What happened?" She gripped Morgan's shoulders. "Are you hurt? Is it one of the kids?"
Morgan waved her off, shaking her head as she eased out of her friend's grip. Still huffing and puffing, she leaned forward and placed her hands on her knees, swiping a few microbraids out of her face in the process.
"Morgan, so help me . . . You're scaring me. If you don't tell me what happened, I'm going-"
"Give me a second. Running through the halls in these shoes and these tight-ass pants," she wheezed, "takes a lot out of a woman." She finally stood upright. "Okay, I have a TikTok emergency. I need you to help me with one of the dances, and I need you to do it now. Otherwise, there's going to be hell to pay."
Isabella's stormy gaze bore into her like two serrated knives, ready to twist and turn into her gut.
Morgan frowned. "What? What did I do?"
"Are you freaking serious right now?" Isabella stomped past Morgan and slammed the office door. "Your ass scared me to death! If you ever barge in here like that again, you really are going to need help because I'm going to wrap my hands around your scrawny little neck and-"
"All right, all right, geez," Morgan said, eying her friend.
Tall, with olive skin and long, orange-ginger hair that was pulled into a messy ponytail on top of her head, Isabella Jeter, her best friend since kindergarten, was a knockout even on her bummiest days, like today. Instead of her usual work attire-a nice blouse and dress pants-she sported an old, fitted T-shirt and worn, gray sweats that made her look grungy from the neck down, but that didn't detract from her perfectly made-up face, and she still wore her signature red lipstick.
She was dressed down since she planned to finish painting the small, upstairs multipurpose room.
Isabella continued glowering.
"Calm down. There's no need for threats of violence," Morgan told her.
Isabella threw up her hands. "I can not believe you," she snapped, and marched back to her desk.
Morgan stood speechless as her friend and business partner dropped down into her leather desk chair.
"Why are you mad at me? This is important." Morgan set her phone down and leaned on the desk. "Last week, the kids challenged me to a TikTok dance, and I totally forgot about it. I'm not prepared and, Izzy, if I don't make a good showing, I'm never going to hear the end of it."
Isabella continued glowering. "Why am I mad? 'Cause you scared me to death. I thought something was really wrong. Mo, I love you like a sister, but everything I love about you also drives me nuts. You're acting so flippant about the meeting you have in a couple of hours, and instead, you're worried about your damn dance moves. Where are your priorities?"
"Iz, my priorities are on point. Why are you trippin'?"
Isabella pounded her fist on a stack of file folders. "Because this meeting is important, Morgan. Open Arms needs that building, and you know that," she said. "Instead of strategizing a plan, you're out there perfecting your Cardi B shuffle or whatever! You don't have time to be clowning around."
Six months ago, she and Isabella had founded the nonprofit Open Arms with the lofty mission of helping young adults between the ages of eighteen and twenty-two who'd aged out of foster care. Morgan could never claim to relate to their struggles. With a father who was an A-list actor, she'd been fortunate to grow up with more than enough, but her heart went out to every one of those kids.
When kids arrived at Open Arms, they came clutching a black trash bag that contained all their possessions and the hope that she and Isabella could help them with everything from securing housing and getting scholarships to finding full-time employment.
Unfortunately, the demand for assistance was greater than what Open Arms could fulfill. But Morgan was hopeful that within a year, their foundation could accommodate at least a hundred clients. Right now they could comfortably only take in twenty. Which was why obtaining the forty-thousand-square-foot Hollywood mixed-use building was so important to her and Isabella. That prime piece of real estate was in the perfect location. That was the good news. The bad news-they were competing with several other investors who also wanted the property.
"Are you even ready to meet with Mr. Kellner?" Isabella asked.
Jeffrey Kellner was the eccentric billionaire owner of the property, as well as an old family friend of Morgan's father. She hoped that relationship would give her an advantage. Normally, she was the epitome of confidence, but she'd be lying if she said that she wasn't a little nervous about the process. Especially when the price tag of the building was 18.9 million dollars. That alone was intimidating as hell.
She folded her arms across her chest. "I'm as ready as I'll ever be. Besides, what's there to get ready for? It's just an informational meeting. I've done all I can do at this point. I submitted my offer and it's still on the table."
Buying commercial property was new for Morgan, and according to her brother Karter, a venture capitalist, the process Kellner was putting her through was a bit unusual. Karter planned to attend the meeting with her to find out what else she needed to do to get her offer accepted, and that's what Morgan told Isabella.
"All right, I guess I'm going to have to trust that you have everything under control," Isabella said, tapping her fingers on her desk.
"I do. Now, can you help me figure out how to load a TikTok dance? I need to learn the steps in the next fifteen minutes."
Isabella looked at her with raised eyebrows. "And you're planning to dance in that?" She pointed at Morgan's black Dolce & Gabbana pantsuit.
Morgan stared down at the outfit that molded to her body like a second skin. The fitted jacket with peak lapels and classy eyelet detailing on the sides screamed sophistication and style. She looked professional and like she meant business.
"I don't have time to change into workout clothes. So I'm going to have to dance in this."
"I think that's a bad idea. You're not going to be able to move, and what happened to the red suit you were planning to wear? The color looked amazing against your dark skin."
"It's hanging up in my office."
"Girrrl, I think that red suit is one of your flyest designs to date. It's gorgeous. I know you said that you're done with fashion design, but-"
"Stop right there," Morgan interrupted and held up both hands. "Last night I suffered through one of my mother's soul-destroying speeches. She went on and on about what a talented designer I am and how I needed to finish my degree. I'm in no mood to hear another lecture this morning. And to answer your question, I opted for this suit because it looks more professional than the red one."
The red suit was sexy and chic and attracted male attention whenever she wore it. That wasn't what she was going for today. She wanted Mr. Kellner to see her as a badass boss-lady ready to handle business.
Morgan picked up her cell phone from the desk. "Okay, enough about my outfits. Show me how this TikTok stuff works."
"You can't even run down the hall without practically passing out. How are you planning to hang with these kids who are half your age? They do these dances probably more than they brush their teeth."
"First of all, they are not half my age. I'm only twelve years older than most of them, but if that's a crack at me turning thirty in a few months, remember, you're older than me. Now, can we get started?"
The words were barely out of her mouth when someone knocked on the office door.
"Come in," Isabella called out, and the door slid open.
"Miss Izzy, have you seen . . . Oh, Miss Morgan, you're the person we're looking for," Melody, one of their clients, said with a smile. Two other girls peeked into the room. "Are you ready?" Melody asked.
"She's ready," Isabella said, humor lacing her words.
Morgan whirled around to see her friend grinning mischievously.
"I can't wait to see you ladies dance." Isabella shot out of her seat and moved a guest chair and rolling file container out of the way. "Feel free to do your thing right here in my office."
"I'm going to kill you," Morgan mumbled under her breath as Izzy reclaimed her seat.
The girls spilled into the room, and Melody set her cell phone up on the desk so that everyone could see the screen.
"We picked an easy dance that we all can follow," she said to Morgan. "It's only five minutes, and we can do a little walk-through if you want before we go for it."
Never one to back down from a challenge, Morgan fell in line next to Melody, Bia, and Dionne. As promised, they went slowly through the dance moves the first go-round. Clearly they knew Morgan wasn't prepared.
"Miss Morgan, you have to squat a little lower," Bia said and showed her by bending her legs deeper and slightly opening them. Her butt almost touched the floor.
"If Morgan tries that, you're going to have to help her back up," Isabella said on a laugh.
Morgan discreetly gave her friend the finger while lifting her left arm toward the sky the way Bia was doing and then added a little shimmy. The song was definitely more suggestive than Morgan thought it would be, but she was here for it.
"Now rock to the left. One . . . two . . . three and to the right," Dionne coached. "One . . . two . . . three . . ."
They practiced for another few minutes, and Morgan could see why TikTok dances were all the rage. It was fun, and if she did them often enough, they would make a great workout.
"Okay, I think we all have it. Let's get started," Melody announced.
She turned up the volume and "Whatta Man" by Salt-N-Pepa blasted through the office.
Morgan let her inner vixen loose as she got into the groove, gyrating her hips and throwing in a couple of vogue moves for good measure. She might've missed a few steps, but considering this was her first attempt at a TikTok dance, she thought she was doing great.
"Heeyyy," she said, totally feeling herself as they did a swagg bounce with a little hop while swinging their arms.
"Okay, get ready to drop it like it's hot, ladies," Bia said in a singsong voice.
Morgan was right there with them until a loud ripping sound overrode the music. Everyone froze.
"Oh, shit," Morgan murmured and popped up. Her hands flew to the back of her pants, where she could feel air that she hadn't felt moments ago, and the girls burst out laughing. The dance was all but forgotten as they literally fell to the floor in hysterics.
Morgan's mortified gaze flew to Isabella, who was no better. She hung over the arm of her chair cackling hysterically. She tried saying something to Morgan, but each time she got a word out, she'd fall out laughing again.
"Urgh," Morgan shrieked and hurried toward the door, her hands covering her backside.
Thank goodness I brought that red suit.
Chapter Two
"Which do you think Kira would like best? The black hairy spider, even though it's missing a leg, or a ring-necked snake with a yellow band around its neck?"
Drake Faulkner pulled his gaze from the blueprint that was spread across his desk and glanced at the doorway of his home office. Tall and lanky, his fourteen-year-old brother, Aiden, stood there holding up the two rubbery items, looking back and forth between them.
What made his question even more ridiculous was that he was serious.
Drake shook his head and huffed out a breath. "Neither," he said dryly and placed his palms facedown on top of the blueprint.
He gave his brother a hard look, taking in his hair, a loosely curly high-top fade that needed to be tightened up at the barbershop soon. They both had the same deep brown skin tone, brows that looked as if they were professionally arched, and dark eyes that were almost black.
But that's where the similarities stopped.
Drake had always been neat and cared about his appearance. That wasn't always the case with Aiden. Although today, dressed in a white graphic T-shirt and jeans-that for once weren't hanging low on his narrow hips-his little brother actually looked presentable.
"You're an idiot. Now move out the way. I need to talk to Drake," Addison, Aiden's twin sister, said, and shoved past him to enter the office. "Drake, can you take me to the store before you drop us off at school? I need another sketchbook and I want to get some eyeliner."
Drake stared at the two people he loved more than life itself. They were growing up too fast.
Addy might be a teenager, but mentally she was going on twenty, and she seemed to get prettier every day. She shared the same skin coloring as he and Aiden, but her baby face gave her a sweetness that made pubescent boys fall all over themselves to talk to her. Her dark wavy hair, which she usually wore hanging past her shoulders, was up in a loose ponytail with long tendrils framing her face.
Seemed like it was just yesterday that they were rambunctious toddlers getting into everything and leading Drake to the decision to never have children of his own.
He had been eighteen and heading to UCLA on a full academic scholarship when all three of their worlds exploded into fiery devastation. Aiden and Addison had been two years old when he became their legal guardian.
Drake would never forget that day. He had arrived home from playing basketball in the neighborhood to find two detectives on the front stoop. Cops at the door was never a good sign. Little did he know that they would blindside him with news about his parents-they had died in a plane crash.
Copyright © 2022 by Sharon C. Cooper. All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
