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  Contents

  Making It Real

  Hiding Places

  My Nora

  Acute Reactions

  Nothing's Sweeter than Candy

  Final Mend

  California Sunrise

  Running Interference

  Singapore Fling

  Island Pursuits

  Meet the Whitmans

  Sneak Peek from Crimson Romance

  Making It Real

  Synithia Williams

  Avon, Massachusetts

  Copyright © 2015 by Synithia Williams.

  All rights reserved.

  This book, or parts thereof, may not be reproduced in any form without permission from the publisher; exceptions are made for brief excerpts used in published reviews.

  Published by

  Crimson Romance

  an imprint of F+W Media, Inc.

  10151 Carver Road, Suite 200

  Blue Ash, OH 45242. U.S.A.

  www.crimsonromance.com

  ISBN 10: 1-4405-8671-3

  ISBN 13: 978-1-4405-8671-2

  eISBN 10: 1-4405-8672-1

  eISBN 13: 978-1-4405-8672-9

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, corporations, institutions, organizations, events, or locales in this novel are either the product of the author's imagination or, if real, used fictitiously. The resemblance of any character to actual persons (living or dead) is entirely coincidental.

  Cover art © kaleena_katt/123RF

  Acknowledgments

  There were several people who helped me fine-tune Kareem Henderson’s Happily Ever After. Thanks to my fantastic beta readers, Liv and Tia, for your helpful comments and insights as I worked on this draft. Thanks to the guys I harassed about life in a barbershop and the backstories of their female barbers. Of course, I have to thank my awesome editor, Jess Verdi! Yet again your comments helped me dig deeper and fine-tune the story. Thank you to my nephew, Jayden, for coming up with the name of Kareem’s barbershop. You rock, little man! For the readers who begged me for Kareem’s story, I hope you fall in love with him and Neecie. And finally, yet again, thank you to my own personal hero, my hubby, for all your continued love and support.

  Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  Acknowledgments

  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

  CHAPTER 17

  CHAPTER 18

  CHAPTER 19

  CHAPTER 20

  CHAPTER 21

  CHAPTER 22

  CHAPTER 23

  CHAPTER 24

  CHAPTER 25

  CHAPTER 26

  CHAPTER 27

  CHAPTER 28

  CHAPTER 29

  CHAPTER 30

  CHAPTER 31

  CHAPTER 32

  CHAPTER 33

  About the Author

  CHAPTER 1

  Kareem Henderson shifted in the hard as concrete chair in a useless attempt to find a more comfortable position. Clenching his teeth, he fought the scowl struggling to take over his face. His steady gaze remained trained on the red, sweaty face of the bank manager—Mr. Tim Small, based on the gold nameplate on the shiny desk—sitting across from him in the fancy office of First Legions bank. Mr. Small’s watery eyes shifted to Kareem every five seconds. If Kareem didn’t need his loan approved, he would have yelled “Boo” just to see the man jump. He had no intention of robbing the place, but the manger’s overactive sweat glands said Mr. Small wasn’t so sure.

  “Can you help me?” Kareem asked, his voice sharp with annoyance. The name fitted the guy. The longer Kareem stared, the more Mr. Small seemed to shrivel up into his seat.

  Kareem got the man’s hesitation. As a tall guy dressed in all black with dreads, Kareem didn’t give off the warm and fuzzy vibe, but he’d tried extra hard to be pleasant, and his business plan was on point.

  Mr. Small wiped a shaky hand across his brow, plastering a few thin brown hairs to his forehead. “You have a very … interesting plan. I can tell you worked hard on drafting your proposal and researching similar businesses.”

  “I worked with Business Connections to put everything together.”

  The first real smile popped up on Mr. Small’s face. “Ah, yes, Sandra Brevard is the director over there. She’s a great person. First Legions partners with her organization on many of our philanthropic activities.”

  Kareem considered dropping the fact that Sandra, his future sister-in-law, had sent him. Revealing his family connection would clear up the suspicion on Mr. Small’s face better than Proactiv on an acne-prone teen. But Kareem had lost the privilege of using his family name to open doors for him over a decade ago.

  “She is a great lady,” he said.

  Mr. Small nodded. “Though I would love to approve a loan for your … salon…”

  “I’m calling it a gentlemen’s lounge.”

  Mr. Small’s eyebrows rose, and he gave Kareem a weak smile. “Right. Still, Mr. Henderson, your idea is risky. I couldn’t, with a clear conscience, approve the loan.”

  “I have most of what I need already saved.” Kareem’s voice became as hard as the damn chair he sat in.

  Sweat sprouted across Mr. Small’s brow. “Right. You do, and that is good for you, but still. I think it would be best if you … saved a little more.”

  Kareem gripped the arms of the chair. His nostrils flared, and he tried not to breathe like an angry bull. He could save the rest of the money in a year or two, but a loan would get him to his dream sooner.

  “Is there anyone else I can talk to?” he bit out.

  “I’m afraid not. I am the branch manager, you see.” Mr. Small’s voice wavered.

  Kareem pried his fingers from around the arms of the chair. “Thank you for your time.” He jumped out of his chair.

  Mr. Small pushed back from the desk so fast his chair nearly rolled into the wall. If Kareem’s body weren’t so tight, he might find the entire situation funny. The entire meeting had been doomed from the moment he shook Mr. Small’s limp hand.

  Mr. Small jumped from his chair and held his hand toward the door. “You do understand my position?”

  He understood the man was eager for him to leave. “I understand the argument you’re trying to make. I can’t say that I agree with you.”

  Kareem leaned over to pick up the folder with his business plan, the folder Mr. Small had cracked open for all of two minutes. The manager jumped, and the corner of Kareem’s mouth quirked.

  Kareem lifted his chin and straightened. “Have a nice day.” He turned and walked out of the office.

  His body pulsed with the need to lash out. He sucked in a breath and twisted his head from side to side. Getting angry and acting on that anger had screwed up his life back when he was twenty-two and considered himself invincible. Five years in prison for carjacking proved otherwise. There were other outlets he could take for this anger, but none as satisfying as shaking some sense into the branch manager.

  Kareem made his way across the thin, blue carpet in the bank lobby. An old lady took one look at him and shuffled out of the way. It reminded him of his gang days. Back then he enjoyed people getting out of hi
s way. Now the unnecessary fear annoyed him. He needed this loan, needed to reinvent himself. He smiled at the old lady and tipped his head.

  The door to the bank opened. Once glance at Sandra Brevard striding in and Kareem’s feet stuck to the floor. He’d never looked up the word classy in the dictionary but was pretty damn sure all he’d find was a reference to Sandra. Sexy sophistication in a tall, curvy package. Just the type of woman he wanted but wouldn’t know what to do with if he were lucky enough to land her. Sandra belonged to his brother, David, something he’d had a hard time coming to terms with a few months back. His feelings had dimmed, but he couldn’t shake his admiration for the way she’d helped with his business plan or pretend she wasn’t attractive.

  Sandra spotted him, and a smile spread across her beautiful features. Some of the tension in Kareem’s neck eased.

  Sandra crossed the room to him looking like perfection in a fitted cream suit. “Kareem, what are you doing here?” Her husky voice filled with hope.

  “I came to talk to Mr. Small about a business loan.”

  Sandra’s eyes glanced toward Mr. Small’s office. “How did it go?”

  Kareem shrugged. “It didn’t go at all. He denied me.”

  Sandra’s arched brows drew together. “I don’t understand. Your business plan is perfect, and you have most of your capital already saved.”

  “Apparently I’m too risky.”

  Sandra scoffed. “That’s crazy. Just because your idea is different doesn’t make you too risky.”

  The corner of Kareem’s mouth lifted. Sandra hadn’t laughed at his idea to open a high-end gentlemen’s salon when he brought it to her. Instead, she used the resources of her organization, which helped small businesses make connections and grow, to solidify his plan. Not many people supported him the way she had. That was something he could only blame himself for, but still, having someone on his side was nice.

  “Don’t worry,” Kareem said. “I’ll try someplace else.”

  “I’m sorry, Kareem. I wouldn’t have sent you over here if I didn’t think they’d approve your loan.”

  “It isn’t your fault. You’ve helped me enough already.”

  Footsteps preceded Mr. Small’s appearance. “Ms. Brevard, how nice it is to see you this morning.” The guy was all smiles and sweat-free when he took Sandra’s hand.

  “Hello, Mr. Small,” she said then pulled her hand away. “I was just talking to Kareem, and he mentioned things didn’t go so well today.”

  Mr. Small’s beady eyes darted Kareem’s way. “Why yes, unfortunately, he’s too much of a risk.”

  “Kareem or Kareem’s idea?” Sandra asked in a no-nonsense voice.

  Mr. Small cleared his throat. “His idea, of course.”

  Sandra turned back to Kareem. “Talk with David; maybe he can give you an idea of where to go next.”

  Kareem’s shoulders tightened at the mention of his brother. “I’ll think about it.”

  Her frown slowly softened into a look of concern. “He’s your brother, Kareem. I know he wants to help make your idea a reality.” Her voice filled with adoration when she talked about David. Jealousy struck his chest. Jealousy was a bitch that way, a slit your tires and key your car kind of bitch when Kareem compared his life to the perfect model of David’s. Never would he have expected that one day he’d envy his baby brother.

  Mr. Small perked up. “David Henderson?” He looked at Kareem. “David Henderson is your brother?”

  “Yes,” Kareem said.

  “And Roger Henderson, of Henderson Automotive…”

  “My father,” Kareem said, his voice going ice cold.

  “Well.” A grin spread across Mr. Small’s pudgy face. “Knowing that, we might be able to work something out.”

  Kareem’s grip on his business plan tightened. “No thank you, Mr. Small. I wouldn’t want you to take a risk just because I’m a Henderson. I’ll find another way.”

  Sandra placed a hand on his arm. “Call David, okay?”

  Kareem pulled away from her touch. “I’ll handle this myself. Rehearsal dinner tonight, right?” He knew damn well his baby sister’s rehearsal dinner was that night. Just needed to change the subject.

  Sandra sighed and nodded. “I’ll see you at seven.”

  “Seven it is.” He stalked away and burst out the door to the bright sunshine of a fall afternoon.

  He sucked in cool, crisp air, but his stomach heaved. He didn’t deserve his family’s help, after his screwed up past, the pain he caused, and the way he once lusted for Sandra. Yeah, he’d be in the running for asshole of the century if he went to David for help.

  • • •

  Kareem pulled his red and black Honda CVR 1000 motorcycle into one of the pothole free parking spaces in the strip mall where his barbershop was located. After the disappointing bank scene, he’d gone home, hopped on his bike, and zoomed around town to get rid of his frustration. The ride hadn’t worked. Hours later, tight shoulders, a clenched stomach, and a headache still lingered.

  He slid off the bike and stared at the fourth unit in the strip mall, the words Fresh Cutz painted in black across the window. A sense of pride washed over him. He’d opened the place against all odds. His sole purpose after five years in prison was to open up his own shop. Thanks to a $50,000 winning lottery ticket two days after he got out, Kareem had his own place in the world.

  Hitching his book bag further up on his back, Kareem crossed the parking lot toward his shop, the sky darkening in the late afternoon. No one had booked an appointment with him today. Better for them anyway; the mood hovering around him would not have played nice with cutting hair.

  Two teenage boys who normally got their hair cut in his shop stood near the door trying to holla at a young girl Kareem didn’t recognize. Not unusual—trying to get in a female’s pants was pretty much the priority of teenage boys.

  “Come on, girl,” one of the boys, dressed in tight red skinny jeans and a black and gold t-shirt, said. “You know you want us.”

  The girl flipped long braids over her shoulder. “No, I don’t. Now move.” She pushed the boy out of the way.

  The other boy, in grey sweatpants that tapered at the ankle and a white t-shirt, grabbed her arm.

  “Quit playin,” the boy said with a sly grin. “We saw you checking us out. Just take a ride.”

  She jerked her arm away. “I said no.” Her voice wobbled. She tried passing, and again they blocked her way.

  Kareem’s hand tightened on the strap of his book bag. Scowling, he marched over to the trio. “What's going on over here?”

  The girl jumped and stared at him warily. The boys only shrugged and grinned.

  “Nothing, Kareem,” red pants said. “We just talking.”

  “Looks to me she wants to be left alone.” Kareem walked over and stared at the girl. “Am I right?”

  “Yes,” she said, crossing her arms tightly over her chest.

  “Where are you going?” Kareem asked.

  She pointed toward the parking lot. “My car’s over there.”

  “Go to it,” he said in a hard voice. She scurried around the two boys to an older model green Toyota Camry.

  “Come on, Kareem, why you had to scare her off like that?” grey sweats asked.

  Kareem glared at both boys. Anger boiled in his stomach. “When a woman says no, leave her the hell alone.”

  Red pants swallowed hard, then tried to blow out his chest. “We were just playing.”

  Kareem pointed to the departing Camry. “The look on her face said she wasn’t having fun. If the only way you two can get some ass is by dragging an unwilling female to your car then you’re sorrier than I thought. Get the hell away from my shop.”

  Grey sweats ran a hand over the thick curls on his head. “We’re already running late and haven’t gotten our haircuts yet.”

  “Yeah, and we got a party tonight. C’mon, man,” red pants said. “We weren’t going to hurt the girl.”

  “I don�
�t give a damn if you’re entertaining the president. No haircut in my shop tonight. Get the hell on, and don’t come back until you learn some respect. Maybe next time you’ll understand no means no.”

  He turned his back on the two boys. His frustration from earlier was now up another notch thanks to two idiotic teens. He swung open the door to Fresh Cutz. Warm air, the smell of oil sheen, and the sounds of hip hop music greeted him. He clenched his teeth and gazed across the room.

  Two of his male barbers were at their station. Lee, a tall, dark-skinned guy with a sharp fade, swept hair around his station while Al, a short stocky guy with a tapered fro, sat in his barber chair. Kareem’s gaze swept to the station to the right of the door and his only female barber. Neecie Baldwin gave him one of her sweet smiles. Her hands worked furiously while she re-twisted the roots of her client’s dreads.

  “Thank you for stopping those boys,” she said, gold bangles clanging at her wrist.

  He didn’t answer. His eyes did a quick scan of her body, something he couldn’t stop where Neecie was concerned—short, cute, and thick. Her fitted black shirt clung to large, full tits, and a long, flowing, flowered skirt hinted at hips and an ass made for grabbing.

  Heat spread through his balls. If Neecie weren’t so damn sweet, he’d think she purposefully came to work dressed to drive him crazy, which in turn made him want to do really naughty things and turn her clean smile dirty.

  He jerked his gaze away from Neecie to glare at Lee and Al. “Who changed my music?”

  Al cringed and shrugged his shoulders. “My bad, Kareem. We thought you weren’t coming back.”

  “That doesn’t mean you can turn this place into a club.” Kareem strode to the back of the shop and flipped the satellite radio from the hip hop station to reggae.

  Once the mellow beats of Mighty Diamonds filled his place, he stomped back out to the main shop. “Where are Joe and Rico?” He pointed to the two empty chairs next to Al and Lee.

  “They both left a few minutes ago,” Lee said, leaning on the top of the broomstick. He looked at his big, gold watch. “You mentioned closing up early tonight because of your family thing, so they left. We were only hanging out until Neecie finished.”