Risky Business of Love. Yahrah John St.
tion>
Risky Business of Love
Yahrah St. John
Contents
Acknowledgement
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Acknowledgement
I am blessed to have many family members and friends who support me and my writing career. They understand my need for space or my lack of free time when it comes to my writing. I wish I could thank them all, but there wouldn’t be enough space. So, let me thank my family first—the Mitchells, the Smiths and the Bishops.
My father Austin Mitchell for his enthusiasm, support and faith in my abilities. Gita Bishop for not just being my cousin, but a big sister, as well. You’re always looking out for me. To my second moms, Aislee Mitchell and Beatrice Astwood, for their love and dedication.
My friends until the end, Tiffany Harris, Therolyn Rodgers, Dimitra Astwood and Tonya Mitchell, and my sister Cassandra Mitchell for listening to my story ideas, reading drafts and offering advice and suggestions.
Finally, I’d like to thank my readers for their continued support of a new writer such as myself. You make me want to be a better writer!
All of you are a source of great strength, and contribute to my success.
Chapter 1
“You’re on in five.” Cameraman Lance Johnson pointed the lens on Ciara Miller, general assignment reporter for Philadelphia’s WTCF-FOX Channel Twenty-Nine News.
“Wait a sec,” Ciara replied, smoothing down her shoulder-length hair with one hand while holding the microphone in the other. She was about to speak when the roar of ambulance sirens screamed in the background. Once they were no longer within earshot, she turned away from the devastating murder-suicide scene in front of her on a balmy afternoon in early July.
Lance smiled as he looked through the lens. Ciara was breathtaking. He was captivated by her smooth bronze skin, brilliant hazel eyes, full lips and defiant chin. Ciara had a way of seducing the camera with her delicately carved features and exotically high cheekbones. The honey-blond hair surrounding her oval-shaped face only added to her allure. The new hair color was daring but not too bold as to offend viewers. She’d said she wanted to make a statement, and that she had. Ciara was always the epitome of fashion and today was no exception. She was wearing killer-red Prada pumps, a slim black skirt and a vibrant red silk blouse.
He’d known Ciara for the last five years since they’d both begun working at WTCF fresh out of college. Barely making minimum wage, they’d been paired together and had instantly developed a rapport. Their long hours and grunt work had paid off as they’d steadily moved their way up the newsroom ladder. Ciara was now a staff reporter and Lance an assistant photographer, but Ciara had bigger dreams and he knew she would achieve them; the girl had tenacity.
Lance gave her a thumbs-up signal, lifted the camera on his shoulder and directed it her way. Poised and ready for battle, Ciara gave the on-screen intro to her package for the second block of the five o’clock news.
“The scene here today turned deadly for a young wife and mother,” Ciara said as the camera focused in on the Spanish-style home that now served as a crime scene. “Hector Rodriguez accused his wife of infidelity and then turned the gun on her and then himself late yesterday evening. Witnesses say that Mrs. Rodriguez came home yesterday to discover her husband enraged after she was late coming home from work. Neighbors say they heard loud voices before hearing gunshots. Authorities indicate that Hector Rodriguez trashed the home in a jealous rage before shooting himself and his wife. Detectives indicate that a full investigation will take place. This is Ciara Miller reporting for WTCF-FOX News.” Ciara smiled into the camera.
“How was I?” she asked, batting her long curly eyelashes at her best friend and coworker. She absolutely adored Lance. He knew her inside and out. She could always be real with him. It was a shame he was so darn smart and good-looking, and with that athletic physique she could eat him up with a spoon. “Unh, unh, unh, unh,” Ciara murmured, shaking her head. But she couldn’t go there, they’d decided a long time ago that they’d rather have a platonic relationship than ruin a great friendship.
“Beautiful as always,” Lance replied, turning off the camera and closing the lens cover. “And you know that.” He set the camera inside the open OB truck that he used to send live feeds back to the newsroom.
“Yeah, I do,” Ciara said grinning, “but a little praise never hurt.” She watched the medical examiner’s van drive away as the police secured the perimeter of the crime scene.
Lance wrapped the cord around his arm and walked it back to the truck. “Since when do you need to be told you’re fabulous? You know you’ve got what it takes.”
“Have you told that to Shannon recently?” Ciara asked. “Because she won’t give me a break. She keeps sending me out for lightweight entertainment stories. Today was the first time I’ve gotten to report breaking news.”
Ciara had tried for months to convince WTCF’s new television director, Shannon Wright, that she was more than a pretty face, to no avail. Had Shannon even looked at her résumé?
She’d been at the top of her class at Johns Hopkins and had obtained a master’s degree in journalism at Columbia University. She’d worked at Columbia’s television station, the Columbia Daily Spectator and the yearbook. She was a member of the National Association of Black Journalists and had worked at the station for over five years. She’d started out as a production assistant before moving on to become a general assignment reporter.
Ciara excelled at pushing herself. So what if that interfered with her cultivating lasting personal relationships; she was willing to make the sacrifice to get to the top of the heap. Her looks wouldn’t last forever. Talent was the key.
“You’ll have your day,” Lance said. “You just have to be patient.”
“As you well know, patience is not one of my virtues,” Ciara replied.
“Ain’t that the truth,” Lance laughed, opening the passenger side. “You’d better get in. I’ve got to get back and edit the footage.”
Ciara hopped up in the van and buckled her seat belt while he closed the door. Lance may have thought that was the end of it, but Ciara had other ideas.
“Now is not the right time for me to announce my candidacy,” Jonathan Butler said to his father, Congressman Charles Butler, and Reid Hamilton, his father’s chief of staff and personal adviser. They were in his father’s office strategizing on Jonathan’s campaign while his father paced the floor reciting the speech he was going to give to the press the following day. “I should let you step down first. I don’t want to appear overly zealous.”
Charles smiled as he watched his son. Admiration shone through in his oval-shaped brown eyes at his son’s stately presence. Six foot three with massive shoulders, his son towered over other men, including him. He carried himself with the same dignity and grace that Charles had conveyed during his twenty-five-year