New York Times bestselling author Mary B. Morrison delivers a scandalous story of two women, a sizzling wager, and the fallout that’s turned lives upside down. Now, with the only man they’ve ever wanted at stake, who will go one step too far to claim him?
I’m the woman Madison’s husband truly loves. And I’ll match her game for game to make him mine. Sindy Singleton isn’t about to lose Chicago DuBois to Madison again. But getting him to open his heart once more won’t be enough to satisfy her. Enlisting the help of Chicago’s worst enemy is the fastest way she knows to expose Madison’s most brazen deception yet. But Madison has more than one devastating card to play. . .
I don’t care what mistakes I’ve made. I’ll do whatever it takes to get my perfect marriage back. If there’s one thing Madison has learned from her disastrous bet, it’s how to turn catastrophe into opportunity. Playing on Chicago’s fatherly instincts will maintain her access to the DuBois fortune–and keep her family’s empire successful. Using sweet Sindy’s niceness against her will knock her out of the running. And the cherry on top: Madison’s got the perfect scheme to finally take care of her ex-lover, her rivals, and the husband she’ll never let go. . .
That baby looks just like me.
I closed my eyes then pictured his head full of wavy black hair. I used to have his kind of hair until my first cut when I was one. Instantly my ‘fro had gone from what Mama called “good to bad.”
My son’s coconut was round. His hands and feet were large like mine when I was born. Zach was twenty-two inches long and weighed eight pounds. That was no coincidence. His genitals looked like they were in 3D and they were darker than the rest of his body, the same as the baby photos of me in my iPhone.
I missed Mama. That weird sound she’d made when she took her last breath echoed in my ear. I rattled my head. Stared at her body in the coffin. Mama had told my brother and me, “Don’t ever say a baby ain’t yours ’cause they don’t look like you. Genes go way back in every family tree. Newborn babies change a lot. One minute they look like the father, then the mother. They come out light-skinned. End up dark. Born with blue eyes that turn green or brown.”
All I knew was I was no deadbeat. Why did women say they wanted a good man, then when I treated them like a queen they dogged me out? After they rode my big black dick, came all over it while screaming, “Oh my God,” they couldn’t stand me? Oh, they’d give it up again but refused to commit to a relationship. I wasn’t a mechanical bull. I had a heart, just like a woman. It was breakable, the same as theirs.
I wanted to cry. Madison had stepped on my heart with those pretty high heels like it was a cockroach. Then she squished until my guts squirted out. How would she feel if … a vengeful idea came to mind.
Hey, I should start charging them chicks to ride my pine. A hundred dollars a hump. Even when I wasn’t trying to be funny, I cracked myself up. Starting to slap my thigh, I stopped. This was not the place for that. Almost forgot where I was at. I scratched my knee, then thought, “You should’ve been a comedian for real, dude.” Talking to people was cool but I loved getting dirty and operating heavy machinery. I drove my excavator with precision. Construction work was all I’d done since high school. My boss Manny praised me all the time.
If Madison didn’t want me, I could deal with that. Fine. Not really. I was lying to myself hoping that would help me get over her. I loved her more now that she had my baby. There had to be a mistake that the DNA test was a match for her husband. But how could I get the baby, take my own test, and prove I’m right? Didn’t want to go to jail for kidnapping or child endangerment. I wouldn’t hurt Zach. He was mine and I’d take care of him.
Mama used to tell me, “You’re never going to be the sharpest knife in the drawer, baby, but make sure you always have the right amount of edge.” She taught me to stand up for what I believed in. One day my third grade teacher gave me a U. She claimed my story was unsatisfactory because she couldn’t understand my handwriting. I pleaded my case. I had the biggest fingers in the class and that skinny no. 2 pencil was too small for me. The fat pencil was too big. It made me write under the lines. I’d stayed up all night rewriting my paragraph. The next day when I showed her the other five pages where I kept starting over and reminded her she was the one that taught me to write, write, and rewrite, she gave me a G.
I wish Mama would’ve seen her grandson before she died a few days ago. My son was a week old. My son. You hear me! I’m not crazy. I wanted to jump off the bench and scream, “Zach DuBois should be Washington. He’s my son, y’all!”
Excerpted from If You Don’t Know Me by Mary B. Morrison. Copyright © 2014 Mary B. Morrison. Excerpted by permission of KENSINGTON PUBLISHING CORP.
Series Discussion Questions
The Series in Order of Publication
Book 3: If You Don’t Know Me
Book 2: I’d Rather Be With You
Book 1: If I Can’t Have You
Purchase the series here: http://www.amazon.com/Mary-B.-Morrison/e/B001ILIDYU