One Special Moment - Brenda Jackson [34]
Colby sat in brooding silence. Sterling’s words had hurt her in a way he would never know. Evidently most of the women he knew walked around with dollar signs in their eyes and placed money above everything. If that was the case, then she was different.
Her parents had been two hard-working, God-fearing, middle-class black Americans who had provided her and James with a good and loving home, and had instilled in them good moral values and a firm belief in doing what was right. Even after their deaths when James had become her legal guardian, he had continued to provide that strong foundation for her. No matter how much studying he had to do on the weekends, he had carved out precious time for her and spent a part of his Saturdays doing fun things with her; and then on Sundays he had taken her to Sunday school and church.
She knew, like Reverend Johnson often said, money was not the root of all evil but the love of it was. Even when James had worked hard putting all his time and energy into his business, she and Cynthia had known it hadn’t been about money. It had been about accomplishing a goal in life and making the best out of a talent God had given you no matter what the odds.
“We’re here.”
Sterling’s words invaded Colby’s thoughts. She looked out the window and was not surprised he had taken her to a restaurant she could immediately tell was frequented by the elite and wealthy.
Most of the cars lining the parking lot were very expensive. A valet dressed in a short-waisted white jacket and dark trousers greeted them. No sooner had they alighted from the car than they were thrust upon by a swarm of reporters surrounding the establishment. They suddenly found themselves caught in the firing line of flash bulbs.
“Who’s your new lady this month, Mr. Hamilton?” a lanky reporter asked as he held his miniature tape recorder in his hand.
“Where’s Diamond Swain? Does she know she’s been replaced? Or has she really? When was the last time you saw her?” another reporter asked.
Then there came a question from a third. “How long will your fling with this one last, Hamilton? Considering your track record, I’d say a week or two.”
Sterling laughed. “Gentlemen, can’t the lady and I enjoy a nice evening without your endless questions?”
“Hey, look at the size of the rock on this broad’s hand,” the lanky reporter exclaimed, getting the attention of the others.
Sterling gave the lanky reporter a leveled stare. “The lady isn’t a broad and don’t ever call her that again.”
Then he turned his gaze on the other dozen or so reporters who seemed to have all gone temporarily speechless. He knew the reason. He rarely came to the defense of any women he was with.
“I think it’s time I set the record straight,” he replied smoothly, sliding a possessive arm around Colby’s waist and pulling her closer to his side. Colby came to him willingly although he could tell she was somewhat nervous from all the attention she was getting.
“This is Colby Wingate, and as of this afternoon she became my fiancée.”
This was news and what followed Sterling’s statement was an explosion of more questions, one fired right behind the other. One reporter drowned out his colleagues as he unceremoniously raised his voice above the others. “Where did you come from, Ms. Wingate? And exactly what do you do for a living?”
Acute nervousness churned inside Colby. She looked at Sterling and to her surprise he gave her an assuring wink. That wink somehow gave her the inner strength she needed to answer the reporter’s question in a rather calm voice. “As you can tell, I’m not a model. I’ve got too much hair for it,” she said, jokingly placing the blame on her long, thick hair and not her size-ten figure. Her comment elicited