Never Have A Baller's Baby

Chapter1

The Los Angeles sun shone through the tall wide windows of an older building styled in art deco design, nestled in the heart of the city. It was the home of a small business called Summit Interior Design, owned by a woman named Naomi Peters.

Naomi was sitting inside the building, not paying much attention to the sunshine that was lighting and warming her office. She was focused instead on the stack of papers on the desk. .

The room around her was a large open space; there were no walls between the three desks in the room, though they were separated into different areas. There was a small social area furnished with a sofa and chairs at the center of the room, a break room with a kitchenette in it, and a bathroom off to the far end of the office.

Two women sat at each of the other two desks. One of them was a petite young woman with a short pixie haircut, named Keisha Johnson. Keisha worked as the receptionist for the firm and as Naomi’s personal assistant.

The other woman was a designer who worked for Naomi. Her name was Malaika Charles. Malaika was tall and slender, with feminine curves, shoulder-length black hair, and a graceful air about her. While Keisha was filled with energy and a bright shining happiness, Malaika radiated pleasant calmness and serenity.

Naomi was, in many ways, a blend of both of the two women who worked for her and much more. She was strong and feminine; she was bold and determined. She had worked hard to get through college as quickly as she could, doing everything she could to graduate and start her own design firm. She had struggled with it on her own the first two years it had been open, but then she had seen some moderate success and was able to hire Malaika first, and then Keisha not long afterward.

It was Naomi’s dream to have one of the biggest and best interior design firms in all of Los Angeles, and she knew that she had a way to go to get to that goal, but she had promised herself that she was going to get there, and that nothing was going to stop her.

Naomi frowned at the paperwork she was looking at and sighed in frustration. She rubbed her long, tapered fingers over her forehead and then pushed her medium length black curls behind her ear. Biting her lip, she looked up at Keisha. “Have any other payments come in today?” she asked with doubtful hope.

Keisha looked away from the computer monitor she was studying, and turned her dark eyes toward her boss. “No. Nothing except what I already gave you.”

“And you sent all the invoices out this week?” Naomi asked, furrowing her brow slightly.

Keisha nodded and looked sympathetically at Naomi. “Yes. They’re all out. I’ll let you know if anything comes in.”

Malaika turned her gaze from the fabric samples she was going through, and looked at Naomi. “Is everything okay?”

Naomi sighed and stood up from the desk, running her hands over her hourglass waistline as she straightened her knee-length skirt. “Yes, everything’s okay for now, but it’s getting too thin here on the books. We have got to get some new business in here soon if we want to keep the doors open.”

She moved away from her desk, her high heels making a soft rhythmic sound on the wooden floor beneath her feet. She turned to look at the other two women behind her.

“Would anyone else like some coffee?” she offered in a soft voice as she walked toward a small table near the break room. The table held a coffee pot and a basket with a variety of coffees, teas, and hot cocoas.

“I’ll have one, thank you,” Malaika answered her. “What’s on your mind?” She eyed Naomi curiously.

Naomi tipped the coffee pot and poured the dark liquid into two delicate coffee cups. “I’m looking at all of the bills we have, and I’m looking at the jobs that are coming in, or not coming in… and I’m just getting a little worried. We need to be busier. We need more decorating jobs, and we need them soon.”

Keisha frowned slightly and tipped her head. “We did just put out some new ads, and I talked to two different writers at a couple of newspapers around town. I thought the publicity would help if they did stories on some of the work we’ve already done. I hope we’ll get some new business back from that.”

“That’s a good start. The publicity would definitely help,” Naomi said, setting one of the cups of coffee on the desk where Malaika was sitting.

Malaika looked up at her. “Well, when you finish decorating Scott Thompson’s house, we can definitely use that as a big publicity push. He’s one of the most famous professional football players in the country. We’ll get a lot of business from that. We might even be lucky enough to get the house featured in some design magazines.”

Naomi smiled a little. She tried to hide the smile, turning herself away from Malaika and walking back to her desk. Her cheeks warmed a little and she felt her heart skip a few beats at the mention of Scott’s name.

“You’re right. That will be a good one to use for publicity, once I get it finished.” She sat at her desk and sipped her coffee. She had been taking her time with the redecoration and redesign of his home, though she wasn’t going to admit it to either Malaika or Keisha.

“I’m goin

g over there this afternoon,” she added. “I should be finished with it soon, and then I can have a photographer go over and shoot it for us.”

Keisha brightened. “Oh good! I can put together a press packet and send it with the photos to some of the newspapers and magazines on my design publications list!”

“Good idea, Keisha. I hope that helps us!” Naomi smiled at her assistant. Her thoughts were less on her financial woes and more centered on the man who they had just been speaking of. When he dominated her thoughts, almost nothing else could cloud her mind.

Keisha interrupted her reverie with a gasp as she stared at the computer screen in front of her. Both Malaika and Naomi turned to look at her.

“What is it?” Malaika asked worriedly.

After a few moments of reading what was in front of her, she turned to look at Malaika, and then at Naomi.

“It’s an email from Reggie Davis. He’s Mr. Davis’ son. He said his father has passed away and left this building to him. He’s going to be taking over the ownership of the building, and we’ll be leasing it from him.” Her eyes were wide and her voice was thin.

Naomi’s hand flew to her mouth and everything in her stopped for a moment as the news hit her. “Oh no…” she said in a quiet voice.

Keisha began moving her computer mouse around and typing quickly. “I’ll get some flowers sent to him right away.”

Malaika looked at Naomi with a serious expression. “What do you think this means for us?” she asked in a low tone.

Naomi felt as if the floor had just dropped out from beneath her. “I don’t know.” She shook her head once. “Mr. Davis always said that we could stay here as long as we wanted, and that we wouldn’t ever have to worry about leaving… but he’s not in charge anymore, and I’ve never even met his son Reggie. Mr. Davis talked about him now and then, but nothing more than just passing conversation. I don’t know anything about him.”

Malaika frowned. “When does the lease on the property expire?”

“In about six months,” Naomi answered softly. “I have no idea what he’s going to do. We have this place until then, but he can do anything he wants with it at that point.” The reality of what could happen struck her like a wrecking ball in her stomach.

“We don’t have enough business to move anywhere else.” Malaika spoke evenly, eyeing Naomi carefully.

“No, we don’t,” Naomi answered her. She rose from her desk, looking around for her keys before she turned to pick up her purse. “I’d better get over to Scott’s right now. The sooner I get that one done, the sooner we can get it published and hopefully find some new work.”

Without another word, she headed out of the building and Keisha and Malaika watched her go.

As Naomi drove to Scott’s house, she thought about the changes that would probably come with the new owner of the building. She and Mr. Davis had enjoyed an amiable partnership, and he had supported her in her work to get her design firm going. She knew next to nothing about his son.

Knowing that there was no relationship with him at all, she considered the fact that she was going to have to start from scratch with him and build a good rapport. It was the same as them moving into a new building, at least to the extent of working with an owner.

She tried not to think about it too much, as she didn’t want to worry herself. She had enough on her mind without having to think about what might happen to her office building in six months. She focused her thoughts instead on Scott and his home.

She’d been dragging out the work on his place because she didn’t want the job to end, but with the pile of debt she had been looking at on her desk that morning, and the newly discovered change in ownership of her building, she had to admit to herself that it was high time she got Scott’s house finished and had it photographed so that it could be featured in as many publications as they could find, and hopefully bring in new business.

Naomi wound her car up the twisting road into the rounded green hideaways of Beverly Hills. She came at last to Scott Thompson’s home, and after entering a code into the box for the security gate, she drove along the driveway to the four-car garage and parked at the end of it.

She saw that his car was gone when she went in through the door of the garage and headed into the house. Stemming the disappointment that washed through her, she reminded herself that it was probably good that she was alone, because she could get more work done by herself.

Passing through the kitchen, the dining room, and the living room, she headed up the stairs to the second story of the home and went into a guest bedroom that she had been working on. It was nearly complete, and she had even brought some of the furnishings back into it, though the bed had not been delivered yet.

She looked around at the work that she had done and smiled. She liked it. She’d have designed the room the same way if it had been her own home. Naomi always tried to work with the dedication that she would give to herself; giving others the best that was in her.

Pausing momentarily in her look around the room, she caught her reflection in the mirror and eyed herself. She stood at five feet seven inches, and her body was trim and toned, but it didn’t take away from the feminine curves that swelled out from her.

Her skin was dark, the color of honeyed chocolate, and her hair curled around her head to her shoulders in thick black waves. Her dark brown eyes were set beneath gently arched brows and over high, wide cheekbones. Her nose was rounded at the end and her lips were full. She dressed for her job, professionally, though always with sophistication and elegance.

She finger-combed her hair, straightening it a little, and turned to go to work on the room. She was arranging curtains a short while later, when she heard a man’s voice behind her.