Total pages in book: 77
Estimated words: 72980 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 365(@200wpm)___ 292(@250wpm)___ 243(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 72980 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 365(@200wpm)___ 292(@250wpm)___ 243(@300wpm)
MADISON
I did something illegal. Don’t ask. Now it’s prison or agreeing to my ex-husband’s ridiculous “date me” ultimatum. Judge Washington Babineaux is tall. Caramel. Judgy. And that sexy bald head is an entire violation.
But me? I’m BIG MAD.
No, he didn’t cheat. We buried our son … our baby … and somehow Wash kept living. Kept smiling. Kept existing like the world didn’t end. Meanwhile, I’ve been surviving on spite and boxed wine. So, I’ll sip my drink, nurse my anger, and pretend my pulse doesn’t act brand new every time he stares at me like he still owns me.
Spoiler alert: I may not keep my hands to myself.
WASHINGTON
Madison Spencer Babineaux is the love of my life. She’s also the most stubborn woman breathing ever since we lost our boy. That day, she left me and took all her light with her.
Now, she’s in trouble, and I’m her only hope.
So, I made her a deal: three high-profile dates. She thinks it’s blackmail. At least it includes a side of second chance. But Maddy’s still the sexiest storm I’ve ever survived. Sharp tongue. Gorgeous dark skin. And I’ll take every ounce of her anger.
Because underneath it, she still loves me, and I’ll be damned if I let her run again.
This romcom includes the theme: loss of a child
*************FULL BOOK START HERE*************
All humor is rooted in pain.
~ Richard Pryor
#
With gratitude to a few of my beta readers: Char, Denise, & Nene.
For your strength, beauty, and resilience.
And for my Uncle Kevin, because you would’ve
laughed your ass off on page 43.
While this story is purely fiction,
I hope I brought the characters to life,
especially Big Mad(ison).
mad
. . .
Why did I go to that masquerade ball, anyway? I should’ve let endless rivers of champagne, king cake, and maybe a couple of selfies with the Valentine’s Mardi Gras centerpieces tempt me. Hell, I could’ve photobombed the newly engaged couple during what was obviously a proposal party on steroids. But no … I spotted my ex-husband’s new car. And I got MAD.
“Are you listening? That. Is. You!” The detective I’d dubbed Bad Cop sat across from me, pointing at an enlarged photo.
He must’ve thought he was grilling me like a two-dollar burger. Bless his heart. At least my ex-brother-in-law’s girl said yes to the dress. But did I get some crawfish and shrimp? Nope. I hadn’t even entered the venue before that shiny import made me snap!
Panic had my forehead shimmering brighter than the shores near the Bermuda Triangle. I almost brushed my bangs away but rethought any sudden moves. Because I’d be damned if this New Orleans interrogation room weren’t the place where common sense vanished.
But it wasn’t the blown-up picture on the metal desk between Bad Cop and me that cooked my anxiety. Video footage took those honors. Good Cop silently towered near a flat-screen television paused on … let’s call her the Epitome of Excellence.
Not me.
That beautiful, masked Black queen used a metal bat on her ex-husband’s Bent- ahem, somebody’s baby-blue, two-door Bentley.
Bad Cop, a melted Ken Doll in a crumpled suit, leaned forward across from me. An audio recorder sat between us. Hands resting on the table, he growled, “Admit it, Madison! That’s you.”
“First of all, with a shape like that, I’d absolutely take the compliment. Unfortunately, she’s wearing a Mardi Gras mask. Sounds like this might make a good episode for Unsolved Mysteries. Second, honey, I don’t even mind if you use this recording.” I nudged my head toward the audio recorder. “But this ain’t a museum, and I ain’t an exhibit. So, you gotta hit my Cash App, Venmo, Zelle. I could go on, I got ‘em all.” My bottom lip poked out with its own attitude problems.
“We’re over the jokes, Madison!”
“Good! Me too! I have an important meeting tomorrow morn-, well, this morning. That’s another thing. I don’t appreciate y’all arresting me in the middle of the night.” I stared down at my fuzzy pajamas. Dummies should’ve found me a week ago. Now, I was missing out on sleep.
“You ain’t gonna make that meeting.” Bad Cop chuckled.
We glared at each other for a solid ten Mississippis.
Somewhere close, a juicy fly did a U-turn just to increase the tension in this interrogation room. My glare flicked toward Good Cop, up to his tangled bird’s nest, and back into his icy gaze. What you gotta say?
“The footage is clear, ma’am. That’s you!” Good Cop squeaked. Well, damn, he’d been silent this entire time. Now I understood why. His voice was at least two feet shorter than his imposing six-and-a-half feet.
“You should’ve asked for the director’s cut, boo.” I winked. “That footage could be clearer.” Kidding. New Orleans PD must’ve confiscated this television from a kingpin. At least seventy-five inches and probably 4K too.
Bad Cop slammed a hand on the table. “You vandalized the honorable Judge Babineaux’s Bentley—”
“Baby No,” I corrected.
“Babineaux. That’s what I said.”
“And Madison said, ‘Baby No.’ ” Another voice, seasoned with a deliciously rough Louisiana Creole accent, came from the door behind me. “Question. Did you call me Baby No when you were my wife?”
I tried not to look, but my stiff neck needed a stretch. And when I turned … mercy.
Standing in the doorway like a gift-wrapped pair of red-bottom heels with an apologetic matching bow, all of which I didn’t need, stood my ex-husband, Washington Babineaux.
He had the eyes and jaw of Shemar Moore. No, Boris Kodjoe’s eyes and build.
Okay, so, he was the pure beauty that ChatGPT would spit out if a greedy woman asked for Shemar and Borris combined. All in a tailored suit.
How could I do this to myself? Be slightly, ever so slightly, addicted, I mean, attracted to that man. He forced me to commit vehicular vandalism. I didn’t wake up on Valentine’s and say …
Wait. I did.
I had that plan. And it went off without a hitch. Until some secret Ring camera or whatever caught me. But why take a week to find me?
“What?” I snapped, staring at the top of his shiny bald head. A safe spot. No. Never mind. He had that big scalp energy, all shine, no chill … and I remembered humming while I massaged his scalp with tea tree oil.