LITMIR.BIZ

      Chapter One

       Four years earlier

      Draya hurried as she pulled the clothes out of the dryer. She briefly stopped to wipe the sweat from her brow. It was fifteen minutes after her shift was over and she had to hurry and finish up the laundry before the last bus ran for the night. She glanced at the clock on the wall and took a deep sigh. I’m going to miss my damn bus, she thought as she turned the knob on the dryer. She was instructed by Mrs. Harris to have all the clothes washed before her shift. Draya was in the laundry room of the mansion that sat in the hills of Novi, Michigan. She’d had the job for the last three months as a part-time housemaid. She hated being a maid, but it served as motivation for her, working in such a lavish home. It was the house she eventually wanted one day. It was by far the most glamorous house she had ever been inside of. It was something that she could never afford or even fathom staying in. There were marble floors everywhere and high-priced Andy Warhol paintings on the walls. Draya felt as if she was being teased the three days of the week she worked for the Harrises. Yet she liked the job because she got paid under the table. She had answered a newspaper advertisement to get the job and agreed to get paid cash, no paperwork involved. This was right up Draya’s alley. She needed all of the money she could get and paying Uncle Sam threw a wrench in her program.

      As she hurried to put away the towels that she had previously folded, she began doing a mental countdown. She had ten minutes to finish up and get out the door to walk to her bus stop just outside the suburban subdivision. As she hustled to the hallway closet, she heard the sounds of jazz playing loudly and grew nervous. She instantly knew that Mr. Harris was in the house, and that was a rare occasion. It seemed as if Mrs. Harris scheduled Draya to come in only when he wasn’t there. Draya only recalled seeing him twice, and as she was putting the towels in the closet she glanced over to notice him standing there with his six-foot frame and dark-as-cocoa skin. He had on slacks and a dress shirt. His tie was loose around his neck and his cuff links were absent from his shirt. His broad shoulders and muscular build made him intimidating. His salt-and-pepper goatee displayed his late forties, but he wore his age well. Draya looked deeper and her eyes grew as big as golf balls when she saw him place stacks of money into a hidden compartment behind a painting. The security was in the fact that it was so inconspicuous. She realized that he hadn’t seen her so she quickly returned down the hall to the laundry room. Her heart was beating fast as she began wondering about Mr. Harris, who she’d been told was a real estate investor.

      He must not trust banks, she thought as she began to pull off her apron. At that moment, Mrs. Harris walked past the hall and did a double take. The six-foot-tall blond, blue-eyed fox stopped in her tracks. Mrs. Harris looked like a model straight out of a Victoria’s Secret catalog. Draya was always slightly bothered by their interracial marriage. She felt like there was a shortage of successful black men and Mr. Harris had lowered her own odds by catching one.

      “Oh, hey there. I thought you left already,” the woman said as she checked her watch.

      “I’m heading out now, Mrs. Harris,” Draya answered, slipping on her jacket and giving her boss a nervous smile.

      “Okay, well, hurry along. Mr. Harris and I are expecting a dinner guest,” Mrs. Harris said as she put on a diamond earring. She was not a day older than twenty-six but had lucked out and gotten an older businessman to marry and spoil her. Lucky her, Draya thought to herself, putting on a fake smile and nodding her head. Mrs. Harris walked away briskly and announced, “Honey, I need you to run to the store and get wine for our guest,” before fading into the rear of the home. “Oh, and Draya?” Mrs. Harris called out.

      “Yes?” Draya responded.

      “We’re going out of town next Tuesday, so you can take the week off. I just need you here Monday morning to dust and give the house a good clean before we take off.”

      “Okay, so my only day of work for the week will be Monday?” Draya asked. Lord knows she needed those hours.

      “Yes, that’s correct.”

      Draya quickly gathered her purse and headed out. When she opened the front door, the winter’s hawk hit her right in the face and the cold air sent a chill up her spine, so she zipped up her jacket. Michigan’s winters were brutal and Draya was reminded of it every time she had to go outside these days. She pulled her knit hat from her pocket and slipped it over her head. Draya moved toward the bus stop, walking briskly with her head down to guard her face from the cold. She needed to get home to have a quick rest before going to her second job, a late-night shift at a local diner. Draya was twenty-five years old and had a good head on her shoulders. She had no kids, no man, and no drama. She took care of her seventeen-year-old knucklehead brother, filling the shoes of her mother who had died in a car accident seven years back. They had different fathers, who had both been missing in action their entire lives. So she and her brother June only had each other, which made their bond even stronger. They shared different last names, but their souls were closer than close. The typical story of young minorities in the economically declining city of Detroit.

      Her brother wasn’t an angel, but he was a good kid. So good that Draya knew he was probably their only ticket out of the ghetto.

      As Draya made her way down the road, she heard a car approaching so she hugged the curb to get out of the way. She glanced back and noticed that the car had slowed. As it approached, the tinted driver’s-side window came down and she saw the face of the man who employed her, Mr. Harris.

      “It’s freezing out here. How far do you have to go?” the man asked as he cringed from the cold. Draya had never heard him speak before. He had a deep baritone that was almost melodic.

      “Oh, it’s okay, Mr. Harris. My bus stop is just down the road,” Draya replied, peering toward the end of the street.

      “Where do you live?” Mr. Harris asked.

      Draya paused, not wanting to reveal the area she lived in, which was smack-dab in the middle of the ghetto. “Eight Mile Road,” she finally confessed, dropping her head in embarrassment.

      “Hop in,” he instructed, and hit the unlock button.

      Draya was about to decline. Then she remembered the forty-five-minute bus ride, just to get a transfer. She managed a smile and walked over to the passenger side. As soon as she sat down, the warmth began to soothe her. His heated leather seats were like heaven and the smooth sounds of the Isley Brothers pumped through the speakers. The all-black Jaguar

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