Mahogany: The Love Drought Series

  MAHOGANY.

  The “Love Drought” Series

  Book 1

  Written By: NAKO

  Copyright 2019 by Nako. Published by NakoEXPO Presents.

  All rights reserved nakoexpo.com

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales or, is entirely coincidental. No portion of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without the writer’s permission except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

  Paris,

  You changed me. I’ll forever credit those seven days as a period of transformation. If you’re looking for a sense of peace, go to Paris. Seriously.

  DC,

  I refused to bring in the New Year in my feelings and thankfully, I didn’t. To my readers that became life-long friends, thank you for the getaway. I’m going to hold on to that prayer for the rest of my days. #friendsthatpraytogether #$ho S/B: I’m officially in love with go-go music, I’ve been in my kitchen cutting a rug.

  Happy Reading,

  NAKO.

  P R O L O G U E

  The phone kept ringing. It never stopped ringing. He didn’t have any time for himself, let alone his wife and children. There were four to be exact. Four beautiful kids whom he hadn’t seen in a week. Or was it two? Porter wasn’t necessarily sure. He needed to get going, he promised them that this weekend was all theirs. Although, in the one department where it should have mattered the most, his word wasn’t necessarily bond when it came to the loves of his life. Kim texted him after realizing that her husband wasn’t going to pick up. Porter assumed it was yet another threatening message, so he didn’t bother to glance at it. His Apple Watch died the night before, he was too tired from a long day at work and an even more strenuous time at the gym. When he made it into his penthouse, he crashed as soon as his long legs and sweaty body hit the Serta mattress.

  Porter heard the phone buzzing and he could only imagine what hurtful words were spewing out of her mouth and onto the keyboards. He loved her dearly, she forever questioned that simply because he was rarely home. They hadn’t spent quality time together in ages. Porter didn’t miss the important holidays, Thanksgiving wasn’t included. He was African-American, hailing from France, nevertheless very much a black man. Easter was important, oh and Christmas. Even his kids’ birthdays had been overlooked, but not intentionally. Business always came first. It had to. The life he had lived was a rough one, and his children wouldn’t dare feel that struggle. Confusing gifts for quality time and missed memories was his fuck up and as his phone continued to ding, he scanned an email that read something about him possibly being sued by some…chick. He angered quickly and threw the phone across the wall.

  “I’M FUCKING COMING!” he yelled at the possibly shattered and cracked iPhone. He could only imagine what his wife had texted, she was good for cutting him with her words.

  Wife: On everything I love Porter, I’m done with you.

  Wife: I hate you and the kids hate you too. How does that make you feel? You probably don’t even care.

  Wife: When I first met you…damn, if I could just get the old you back for one minute. That’s all I want.

  Wife: The kids are so excited to see you please don’t do this to them. Text them back and at least say you can’t wait to see them. Millie showed me y’all’s message thread and it’s disheartening. They’re your kids not some artist or model looking for you to sign them.

  Wife: Porter, after the weekend is over before you jet back out, we need to talk. Seriously…I have something to tell you.

  He took a deep breath and resumed the email. Before he knew it, he found himself calling a last-minute emergency meeting with the three lawyers that he had on retainer. He forgot all about his dead Apple Watch and the phone he tossed against the wall. Him and harassment didn’t belong in the same sentence and this had to be dealt with immediately.

  One hour passed.

  Two hours went by.

  His assistant tapped against the window and pointed to her Rolex, a gift from her boss, and rolled her eyes. She was who kept him accountable and he couldn’t miss this weekend with the kids. She, personally, needed the weekend off. She missed her fiancé and dog. She was also privy to the hell that would break loose if he didn’t get his ass on a plane, pronto. Kim would be calling her phone next.

  “One minute.” He motioned to her before swiveling his chair back around and asking his Jewish lawyer, “Are you telling me this is bullshit or what?” He needed him to cut to the chase and give it to him straight. Porter didn’t like reading between the lines.

  The man reviewed the docs that were sent over.

  “I mean yeah, it could be. Do you want to pay to shut her up?”

  His other lawyer who bordered the line between legal and illegal added, “Permanently?” he added.

  Casey was fucking psycho.

  Porter shook his head. “No, I don’t want to do that. I don’t even know this girl!” he blurted out. This life he lived…it came with everything he could do without. Including drama like this.

  Another tap came to the window and Porter held onto his bottom lip. It wasn’t like her to keep interrupting him. He turned around and this time, he let his impatience show over his chestnut roasted face.

  She had tears in her eyes, which forced him to stand to his feet. Assuming something had happened to her and her peoples, but most definitely not his.

  She came into the boardroom, face covered in tears. It was obvious that she was visibly shaken up.

  “P! The plane crashed! It literally fucking went down in the water,” she stumbled across her words. Unsuccessful with getting them out because she was so shaken up.

  “What plane?” He was sure that he had not heard her correctly.

  Was her fiancé on a flight to see her? Her parents?

  Porter remained cool, calm and collected because emotions were rarely worn on his sleeve and if she was losing her mind, someone had to remain sane.

  He was used to being the bigger person. He had grown accustomed to loading up his own plate with everyone’s pain and transgressions.

  “I need you to take a deep breath and tell me what happened. When you say the plane crashed, is he okay? Was it your parents?”

  She shook her head no, not making any sense to Porter. He was confused…and as always couldn’t relate or attempt to connect the dots. Her boss, who worked too much and rarely connected to anything or anyone outside of his businesses, was lost.

  “No, P…” This would most likely be the worst thing she ever had to tell him.

  This wasn’t a letdown that he could get over like the time she lost his six-hundred thousand-dollar Patek Phillipe or wrecked his McLaren P1. It was possible that this bad news would fuck him up for life.

  “What then?” He was running out of good energy.

  “Not my family… it was yours. The plane crashed with Kim and the kids in it.”

  Ambition without abundance is a man without a plan.

  A man without hope.

  A man without power.

  It’s a man who is simply going through the motions.

  -xoNecole

  C H A P T E R 1

  Have you ever seen an angel fall from the sky at night? – The Dream

  You couldn’t rush healing. It wasn’t a time limit, expiration date, or a therapist that could tell you when you woke up, you’d feel better. Healing was defined as the process of making or becoming sound or healthy again. The adjective of the wo
rd, tending to heal; therapeutic. Every morning or in the middle of the night, he’d barely open one of his eyes, praying that that moment would be a prayer answered. He was ready for the burden to be lifted. He needed it to go away. He was suffering in silence. Time had passed, and he was still buried deep in misery, guilt, and depression. He could die right now, and he’d be satisfied. On a few drunk nights when he couldn’t sleep, he contemplated taking his own life. Anything to give him peace. He was searching for his soul…it was in the sewer.

  Porter took a deep breath and then chewed on his tongue as he grew irritated that it was still fucking raining. When would the rain go away? It only dampened his already shitty mood.

  Moving back to Paris was supposed to be this life-changing moment, but so far, it was a bad idea. Being in his hometown only heightened his depression, but he rather be in another country than the States where everyone pitied him.

  After the funeral of everyone he loved, he took his private jet and ducked off. Completely. New number. Downsizing from the four phones he normally toted, to just one measly iPhone that barely rang because only a few chosen ones had the number. He left his riches back in Atlanta, none of those things could put a smile on his face. It didn’t bring him happiness, so he didn’t worry about packing it. His company was now ran by the Vice-President and luckily, he was trusted friend, so he didn’t have to worry about his hard work going rapidly down the drain. Those direct deposits still came like clockwork. But what was millions of dollars, nah, what was billions of dollars when you had no one to spend it on?

  His wife was dead.

  Their four children…gone.

  Everyone was dead. He was alone.

  The one thing he took for granted for many years was no longer.

  God had a funny way of humbling him.

  He was idolizing his career, his success, his fame and fortune while foolishly telling himself that he’ll retire one day. By then he could kick back and enjoy his family, but the day didn’t come.

  To this day, his lawyers hadn’t been able to give him a better explanation other than the plane malfunctioned.

  He asked with fury in his voice, “What in the FUCK do you mean the plane malfunctioned?” It wasn’t enough for him. Porter needed better answers than that.

  He had two jets. One for him and the other, his family.

  The pilot wasn’t new, so what happened? And how? Did the man even try to save his family? Did they suffer? Did he cross their mind before they took their last breath? So many questions and not enough answers.

  Five caskets and one broken, lonely man who sat in the back of the church because he couldn’t dare sit on the front row and mourn in public.

  Kim’s friends didn’t give him much sympathy. They knew she was miserable. They were aware that he was a horrible husband and a lousy father. They didn’t feel bad for him at all. If he was home on the regular, Kim wouldn’t have been flying anyway. She only did that shit to make it easier for him to see the kids. Everyone blamed him. Hell, he blamed himself. No one knew how he was feeling and in this present day, he was still wrapped up in regret.

  He knew he needed to eat, but the rain… Man, this damn rain wasn’t letting up. The skies were dark, gloomy, and gray. The small two-bedroom condo where he resided was empty. He only purchased a bed and toiletries. The granite countertops were full of take-out containers, so the kitchen reeked of a faint smell of old Chinese and vinegar from the fish and chips that he unhealthily consumed. Porter bypassed all of that and went into the bathroom to relieve his bladder. He downed a whole pack of beer the night before and it came right out of him. He used to be fine. Porter was once a sight for sore eyes, but now, his beer gut blocked him from seeing what he knew without a doubt wasn’t going nowhere. No matter how much weight he gained or the lack of showers he took, his enormous dick wouldn’t shrink. He smirked at that thought before flushing the toilet, padding back down the hallway, and then throwing on the first thing he laid his eyes on. He needed to eat. His days were spent reading and more reading. It was a vacation from the evil thoughts that filled his mind on a daily basis. He wasn’t always a nasty nigga, but he didn’t care anymore. Brushing his teeth, washing his ass, getting a haircut and trimming down that scary Wolfman beard wasn’t important to him anymore.

  He didn’t even bother to grab his phone or ID. If someone killed him, they’ll be doing him a favor. The neighborhood that he moved into when he came back across the pond was a nice one. Real cozy and quaint. He loved it and told himself every weekend that he should get out and explore, but he never did. He grabbed food, more beer, and some fresh coffee beans then trekked right back into his abode. It was a retreat of some sort, but it looked disgusting and smelled even worse. There was a note on the door from the landlord asking him to clean up or discard the trash because his neighbors had been complaining of the smell. Porter ate so that his stomach could stop grumbling. After he finished, he went back out to pick up some trash bags and cleaning supplies. He hadn’t cleaned the place since he’s arrived, knowing good and damn well he should be ashamed of himself. Surprisingly, after a good deep scrubbing of the counters, mopping the floors, cleaning the toilet and lighting a Glade candle, he felt…better. He even took it a step further and pressed a button on the wall that slid the blinds across, showing him why the condo really cost so much. The view was breathtaking. It was so beautiful that he stepped back and muttered, “Well damn.”

  There was a clear view of the Eiffel Tower and the landscaping in France was what he fondly remembered. Porter leaned against the island, wishing that he had a couch or some shit to sit down on and take in the view, but his home was bare like his heart, mind, and soul.

  He rubbed his hands through his unkempt hair and this was so not like him. There was once upon a time that you wouldn’t have been able to catch him without a fresh, tapered hairline, fine threads, designer shoes, tailored suits and enough jewelry to blind you from afar. He used to command the attention of an entire room with his cologne only. His smile, his charm, his laugh, the tone of his husky voice that still held small hints of his upbringing in France. He was a sight for sore eyes. His lean figure was now out of order because he ate mostly fried and junk food while he hadn’t seen the inside of a gym in God knows when.

  But this view though, it reminded him that life was still worth living.

  He looked down at his hands. Remnants of the work he used to do. He had put his time in and the fruits of his labor was rewarding. Porter had come such a long way, a true testimony of not letting your circumstances define your destination. His birth mother was a stranger. If she was to walk up to him right now, he wouldn’t know who she was. She left him behind a stairwell at the Louvre and it was only God’s good grace that another woman heard his faint cry. She picked him up, looked over her shoulder to make sure no one else had heard him crying and took him home. She raised him as her own up until she passed from colon cancer on his seventeenth birthday. Porter was thankful for her. She was heaven sent.

  The next year when he turned eighteen, he received a check from her insurance policy and took it as a sign to live his dreams. He obtained a Visa and moved to the United States, never looking back. She wouldn’t have wanted him to make the move and because he didn’t know shit about managing money, he blew through the hundred thousand easily. From homelessness to the streets, from the streets to a few stints in prison. The last time he was released he told himself that he was never going back to jail and he hadn’t. It was only up from there. Porter grinded day in and out. He barely slept. When he touched his first million, it served as a down payment for more product. Once he reached a place of contentment, he took that money and went legit. Porter kissed the streets goodbye, became a business man, married and had four children. The one thing he always wanted a was a family unit, something that he never had, and he took it for granted. He always felt like he had more time to do things the right way, to remind his wife that he did love her, and she was his Queen regardless of the i
nsecurities that he brought upon her.

  He looked at the view once more before the devil won.

  You killed your family. You’ll never smile again.

  A millisecond or so later and he was back in the bed with the covers over his head, muffling his screams with the back of his hand. Porter Bavay would never be the same. At least that’s what he had convinced himself to believe.

  η

  Boredom hit him hard which was surprising because for two years he hadn’t done much of nothing. Literally. Eating, reading and getting drunk was what his days consisted of. The marijuana in Paris was trash so that vice was easy to discard. But today was Friday and he couldn’t lay in bed any longer. He was restless and needed to lay his eyes on something sexy. He flipped the comforter back and got up. He didn’t have many clothes being that he boarded his jet right after the funeral and only picked up a few things over the past seven hundred days. If he was trying to score some pussy, he needed to look the part. Overseas, the whole “wow, he’s famous” thing wasn’t a big deal over here if you weren’t like the Kardashian’s or Beyoncé. No one noticed him. He was the underdog anyway. The nigga that made your favorites famous.

  Porter showered and was thankful to have found an Adidas track suit in the midst of his sparse belongings, but his shoes were busted. He shook his head at how bad he had fell off. His first stop was going to be Zara, he wasn’t dare wearing no track suit tonight. He called an Uber once he made it to the lobby. Two hours later, his neighborhood was in full swing and he was feeling a lil’ better. He jotted back into his crib and changed into something dapper. He looked in the mirror and praised himself because he needed it, “You look good, nigga.”

  He looked like himself again. The haircut had to have taken him back to the solid 10 that he was used to being.

  Porter Bavay wasn’t no ugly man. Not at all. Tall in stature, his height was beyond average with him standing comfortably at six feet, four inches. His skin was the color of coffee in the fall. Roasted chestnut face, long feet that wore a size fifteen shoe. He had light moles across the top of his nose and cheeks. His haircut made grown men jealous because of the texture of his wavy hair and neat beard. He was handsome and once he returned to his prime someone would surely try to lock him back down. However, it was unfortunate that he vowed to never love again. Surely, he knew nothing about treating a woman properly. His wife hated him and those last few messages she sent before her last breath tore him apart because her words were true. He was incapable of being a friend and a husband. Porter knew nothing about balance. He struggled with many things and relationships were at the top of his list.