Taming Mr. Know-It-All: The Taming Series, #3

By Nia Arthurs

Susan Bevans is intimately acquainted with heartbreak and betrayal. For a change of scenery, she pursues a new direction in the beautiful country of Belize. For a change of heart, she agrees to a hare-brained scheme involving fake fun, fake dates, and fake kisses. It's all just pretend.

Or is it?

Archie Hamilton is more than the art on his skin and the beard on his face. And despite the pretenses, Susan is very close to losing her heart to him... for real. Can this L.A. baby tame the Know-It-All?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Nia Arthurs
• Release date: Feb 28, 2016
• ISBN: 9781386979166

Book preview

1

All men are dogs and all life is meaningless. I crumbled to my feet in a pool of white satin and closed my eyes, wishing the darkness would consume me so I never had to face the world again.

What do you mean you saw him with another girl? I asked my sister, Sandra.

We were dress shopping on what was supposed to be one of the happiest days of my life. The shiny marble floors, festive love songs and happy squeals of excited brides saying ‘yes’ to the perfect dress surrounded me like a cocoon of marital bliss. But Sandra’s words hovered over me like a cloud of doom.

Sandra grabbed my hand and my eyelids flew up, my gaze landing on her green eyes. People rarely recognized that Sandra and I were sisters.  Our biracial heritage shrouded us in ethnic ambiguity. 

My sister’s fair skin and green eyes were easier to identify. My light brown skin could be mistaken for a dark tan and the hazel in my eyes overpowered the green. I’ve been mistaken for a Mexican, an Indian, and even a Columbian. That confusion was, ironically, how I’d met Brian.

Sandra knelt next to me and sighed. When I was at Cocoa Bubbles last week, I saw Brian crossing Luther Street holding hands with a woman.

I took deep breaths and tried to rationalize. Maybe it was his sister or his cousin?

Sandra glumly shook her head. No, Sus. He kissed her. I saw him.

The weight of a thousand bricks hit my chest. This couldn’t be right. The man of my dreams would never betray me like this.

How do you know it was Brian? It could have been someone else.

Please, please, please let it be someone else.

That’s what I wanted to think too, Sandra said. She licked her pink lips. "Did I tell you I opened a Lovestruck account for Mom?"

I nodded. Yeah, I remember. Both mom and I thought it was a stupid idea but you did it anyway.

Thinking of my mother made me feel a bit more grounded. Trina Bevans was a no-nonsense Southern belle turned upstate Los Angeles single mother.  Although Mom migrated to the North, the traditional Southern lady was ever present in her stubbornness and genteel rigidity.

Her pig-headedness became even more necessary when Dad left us. I was six and so I didn’t remember much about him. Sandra told me stories about how funny he was and how much he loved us. But I didn’t want stories. I just wanted my father.

Mom tried to fill the gap as much as she could, working two jobs to provide for Sandra and me. When Sandy graduated from college, she got a job too and our lives improved drastically. I wanted for nothing and it was all thanks to my mom and older sister. They both deserved happiness.

Still, online dating was just too unconventional for Mom and we all knew it. Unfortunately or fortunately—depending on the situation—Sandra and I inherited more than our smiles from Mom. We got her steel-head too.

I was testing the app for her, Sandra said. I could see where this was heading. And I saw Brian.

The tsunami blazed into my chest and knocked the breath out of me. "Brian was on Lovestruck?"

Sandra looked away and admitted, "Brian was on Lovestruck looking for older women." As proof, she extracted her phone from her pocket and swiped it open. A screenshot of the app popped up.

There dressed in the blue Oxford shirt that I bought him for Christmas last year posed my fiancé. I peered closer at the picture and grimaced. I recognized that arm.

That was my arm.

Brian had used the photo we’d taken together at our office Christmas party and cropped me out of it for a dating site. I put my hand over my mouth and moaned.

I was dating a psychopathic liar.

I flicked my fingers over the screen to enlarge the shot and stared at his handsome face. Brian was biracial like me. His mother was Mexican and his father was Caucasian.

I’d started working full time at the Maladon Resorts and Company nearly four years ago. After two years, I was promoted to Public Relations Manager. A few days into my role, the office was given a survey from the cafeteria.

Brian was the graphic designer and his office was near my unit. We were both filling in the questionnaire when he heard me complaining about the options under the ‘ethnicity’ line. He came strolling near my cubicle, flashing his dimples at me. He’d cracked a joke about always ticking the ‘other’ option as his ethnicity and the rest was history.

A few days later Brian asked me out on a date, spurring a relationship that spanned one year and six months. Two months ago, Brian proposed and we set the date for a December wedding this year, leaving only eight months to prepare.

Brian was smart and kind. He was ambitious—which I loved especially since I wanted to get back to school and finish earning my law degree. His personality was calm and sober, which I’d thought was the perfect complement to my more charismatic traits.

We balanced each other out. I buoyed him up and he grounded me so I didn’t float away on my whims. There had to be an explanation. Brian would apologize for the misunderstanding. We would get married as planned.

I gathered the satin dress and rushed to the dressing room to change into my walking clothes.

Susan, Sandra called.

I have to talk to him! I yelled as I pulled on my blouse and shorts. The attendant hung up the dress, offering a tight-lipped smile.

Will you take it ma’am? she asked.

I have to think about it a little more, I said and then flew out of the store. Sandra followed. I dove into the downtown L.A. crowd, squinting my eyes against the waning light. Sandra was ready when we got to her cute little Ford Fiesta. She beeped it open.

I slid in. Take me to Brian’s.

Sandra started the car. Looked at me. Stared straight ahead. Shot another look at me.

Her nervous gazes made the roiling in my stomach even worse. I’m not getting mad yet. I don’t want to jump to conclusions. I trust him. I love him. I’m not getting mad yet.

Sandra’s soulful green eyes locked on the road. Her pity slammed against me like a wrestler pounding his opponent. She’d already tried, judged, and executed Brian in her mind.

My sister was a self-proclaimed bachelorette. She didn’t believe that there was such a thing as commitment. Daddy’s abandoning us messed her up and the walls she built around her emotions made it hard sometimes for even Mom to get through to her.

I love him, I said to her silent censure. He loves me. I know he does.

Maybe he does, sis. But you may not be the only thing that he loves.

I turned my face to the window and leaned my head against the glass. My heart was beating so fast, I feared it would beat a hole through my rib cage and dance to the bottom of my stomach. My palms felt sweaty and gross. Why was I freaking out about this?

I recalled the day that Brian told me he loved me. We were hanging out in his apartment, eating Chinese takeout and drinking wine. Brian had lit two tall candles and R&B music played softly in the background. He’d held my hand and pierced me with his deep brown eyes.

Have I told you that I love you Susan Bevans?

Not in so many words, I said, heady with excitement and infatuation.

He leaned toward me, lightly caressing my knuckles with his thumb. Well, I do. He stared at me, taking me to a world where fairytale endings did exist. I love you.

That kind of passion, that kind of emotion could not have burnt out in less than six months. The man that I knew, the man that proposed to me was better than the guy on the dating app. Brian’s friends probably set up the account as a Bachelor party prank.

Yes, that’s it. This was all a joke and everything will be okay.

Not all men were dogs. I knew Brian and Brian knew me. We would be committing our lives to each other at the end of the year and this little rocking of the boat was simply a test of the bonds of our relationship. I never failed a test if I could help it.

I glanced at the rock on my finger. The gold set with a solid gemstone was a family heirloom and it meant more to me than if Brian had bought one at the store. This ring was the embodiment of our love. I wore it with pride.

Fifteen minutes later, Sandra pulled up to the parking lot of Brian’s apartment. Long before I met Brian, I used to come here to visit with a Belizean woman named Melody Reyes. She’d returned to Belize, but we still kept in touch.

The last time I saw Melody was at her wedding to Spencer two years ago. It was a beautiful ceremony and the couple had looked so happy. I considered it an act of Fate that—only a few days after returning to L.A.—I’d met Brian.

Do you want me to come with you? Sandra asked, turning off the ignition and pocketing her keys, ready to step out of the car.

No. Stay here, please. This is something that I need to do alone.

Okay. She reached over the console to give me a hug. You are beautiful and intelligent and he’s a douche bag.

We don’t know that yet.

Sandra slanted me a doubtful glance. I ignored her, got out of the car and strode up the apartment stairs to Brian’s unit.

I had Sandra’s phone with the Lovestruck account picture in my purse but that was a last resort. I was sure Brian would tell me that I was overreacting and that the account was old or it was a prank. Then he would take me into his arms, kiss me, and tell me that he couldn’t wait to marry me in December.

I knocked on the door of his apartment. Brian! I called, keeping the note of panic out of my voice. Everything was okay. There was no need to lose my head yet.

He opened the door a smidge and when he saw me a huge grin spread across his face. The dimples that I loved popped out. At the sight, the storm inside me quieted. Look at those eyes. Were those the eyes of cheater?

It wasn’t all about appearances. Brian was more than his proud cheekbones, coiffed hair, and striking brown eyes. More than the come-get-me tilt of his eyes or the dimpled goodness of his smile.

Brian was understanding of my problems and listened whenever I needed someone to talk to. He treated my mother with respect. He made me feel cared for and safe. I made him feel wanted and loved. We were a team.

What are you doing here? He kissed me on the cheek as I stepped into his place. I grasped my purse tightly in front of me and looked around.

Brian was the quintessential male. A black leather couch and a huge flat screen television filled the room. No decorative efforts had gone into his apartment and he liked it just the way it was.  I thought it was bare and could use a few throw pillows and a rug but I didn’t press him about it.

I have a question to ask you.

He must have seen something on my face because he said nervously, If it’s about my parents, they’ll love you. You don’t have to worry about that.

It’s not about your parents. I walked toward the couch and sat down.

Brian did so as well. Well, why the long face then? This isn’t the Susan I know and love.

Sandra saw you kissing another woman, I blurted. I watched his reaction closely. He flinched and I felt the tidal wave gathering on the horizon of my emotions, returning stronger than ever. But she was wrong. You wouldn’t cheat on me after asking me to marry you.

Brian’s mouth hung open. He did not defend himself.

I scooted to the edge of my seat. "Brian, do you have an active account on Lovestruck?"

How did you find out about that?

Boom, crash. The tsunami hit at full force. I sprung out of my seat. How could you? I yelled. Rage bubbled out of me. I wanted to lash out at him. I wanted to scream. I’d already told my entire family that I was getting married. How could he betray me like this? Was our entire relationship a lie?

Susan! I’m sorry.

You’re sorry? You’re sorry! You jerk! I gathered my purse. Wiggling the ring off of my finger, I threw it at his head, aiming for his eye. Maybe if he was blind in one eye, he could begin to feel the amount of pain I was being bombarded with.

Unfortunately, I had terrible aim and the ring landed in the sofa.

Maybe you should find another fiancée on your precious dating app. I shot at him before opening the door and tearing it toward Sandra and the parked car.

Brian came running after me. Wait, Susan let me explain.

I kept on going, not stopping to hear him rationalize his disloyalty. I hopped into Sandra’s car like a character out of the Fast and Furious franchise and yelled, Drive!

With widened eyes, Sandra stomped her foot on the gas. We left Brian standing in the parking lot. I refused to look back. My initial thought was right.

All men are dogs and all life is meaningless.

2

Later that evening, I tore every single picture of Brian and me to pieces. Every smile, every kiss, every touch was a lie. How could I ever trust him again? How could I trust anyone?

Sandra had left me to tape together my sanity alone, but I knew that my sanctuary would be invaded when Mom came home.

Some people found it strange that both Sandra and I still lived at home. I’d tried the apartment life two years ago, but it wasn’t for me. I was twenty-three, but free meals a day and a rent-free existence appealed to me. In my mind the only reason people moved out of their parent’s houses was to become independent or to get married.

I was independently dependent on my Mom and, obviously, marriage was off the table since four o’clock this afternoon.

Still, it was times like these when I really wanted my own space to grieve without interruption.

I heard the door slam. Mom called out a greeting downstairs. I waited as the house erupted into a piercing silence. Sandra was probably whispering the news to our mother.

The thud of quick footsteps up the stairs warned of their approach. I wiped the tears away and swept the remnants of the photographs documenting my relationship with Brian beneath my bed. I didn’t want my family to see me looking this messed up.

Baby! My door burst open and Mom rushed into my room, embracing me as though her squeeze could salve even the largest bruise. I’m so sorry.

It’s okay, I croaked, my voice hoarse from the weeping.

No, it’s not. If that Brian were here right now, I would…

Before Mom could finish her threat, I shook my head. He’s not worth it.

Mom hugged me tighter, I know, baby, but I also know how much you love him.

I’ll make it. We’ve been through tougher times than this.

It was a joke to deflect the attention from my pathetic love life, but it was also the truth. Growing up in eastern L.A. without a father contributing financially to our family was hard. We got through it somehow.

I hadn’t ever felt poor. The neighbors around us were all in some form of poverty. I thought that everyone in the world was poor. I had nothing to compare my life to and so had an enjoyable childhood.

When I was eleven, Mom was offered a great job and we moved to Pasadena where the neighborhood was better and the school systems ranked the highest in the country. Mom was very proud of the move.

At first the community made a spectacle of us. Not intentionally of course, but Mom was a single Caucasian lady raising two non-Caucasian children. Back in east L.A., the neighborhood was so diverse that having a white mother with lightly brown-skinned children did not mean a single thing. The neighborhood where we lived in Pasadena was not so diverse and eleven-year-olds asked a lot of questions.

The first time I learned about ‘race’ and ‘black and white’ was in Pasadena. Looking at my skin used to trouble me. I was too light to be ‘black’ and too dark to be ‘white’. One day I came home and started scrubbing my skin with Clorox. Mom found me and took the Clorox away.

I remember looking at her and asking, Mom, why can’t I have blonde hair and blue eyes like you?

She said, Because God made you extra special.

For a long time, I did not want to be special. I wanted to be like all the other kids. I wanted to pick a side and stick to it. As I grew older, I accepted the duality of my culture and ethnicity. I was Swiss German and African American. I identified with both.

Things got better when I got older. In high school, everyone fawned over my curly, honey hair and my hazel eyes. Boys found my exotic and unique features appealing. It wasn’t always so acceptable to be different, however, and Mom, Sandra, and I were all very aware of that.

Sandra put her arms around my shoulders and broke me out of my reverie. I’ll go out and buy some ice cream. You hear?

I nodded. Thanks.

Ice cream is God’s gift to women.

Sandra left and Mom finally let me go. She was a beautiful woman. Her creamy, fair skin was tight and mostly wrinkle-free. Her hair was long and blonde, her facial features prim and symmetrical. Mama was shorter than average—which was why I came out just as fun sized.

She did not look a day over thirty. I sometimes wondered why she didn’t meet someone new. She was gorgeous enough to have anyone.

Want to talk about it? Mom asked.

Not really. I don’t even want to think about him. Tell me about your day? Mom worked as Customer Service Manager of the local Walmart. Her job demanded that she be there on Saturdays, which was one of the main reasons she couldn’t go dress shopping with me this morning.

She groaned. We were swamped with news vans and reporters because of that birth in the bathroom.

Who told the press about it?

Two evenings ago, Fredrick Dela Rosa Harris was born in the bathroom of the Walmart that my mother managed. The sixteen-year-old mother claimed that she had no idea that she was pregnant until she went into labor.

No one’s going to admit to it.

I shrugged. People give birth in Walmarts all the time so they shouldn’t find anything too newsworthy.

Actually, Mom clarified, the baby wasn’t breathing when it was delivered.

I snapped to attention. I had no idea.

Mom nodded solemnly. The girl called for help and I did basic CPR.

What? Mom hadn’t shared those details two days ago.

It wasn’t a big deal then and it isn’t now.

You’re a hero! I yelled. That’s awesome.

Anyone that’s been to a CPR class could have done it.

Mom, that’s incredible.

Mom rolled her eyes. Don’t go crazy on me too. I’ve had enough of that with the reporters. You’d think they would spend their time investigating corruption and shedding light on human suffering.

You’re offering something better than corruption and suffering, Mom.

She twisted her hair to the side of her neck and sighed. And what is that, Susan?

Hope.

Mom grunted and stood. My only hope is pizza for dinner. I’m pooped.

I grinned and got up as well, leading the way out of my bedroom.

Where are you going? Mom asked.

Downstairs. I’ve got to set up the TiVo to record the news tonight.

My mom was my hero. It was about time the world acknowledged it too.

After a relaxing Sunday where I lit a bon fire and sacrificed every single item Brian ever bought for me, including a couple’s hoodie that said ‘I’M WITH HIM’ and a teddy bear that he’d won for me at a local fair, I was still not ready to face my ex-fiancé at work.

Most of the office knew that we were engaged. It would be so embarrassing to act professional and courteous when my co-workers asked me where my ring went or why I planned to throw a stapler at Brian’s head every time I saw him.

Before leaving for work, Mom encouraged me to keep my head up and remember that I came from the South, where generations of women had kept their grace and cool even in the face of tragedy and hardship.

That was all well and good, but I didn’t want to be cool and graceful. I wanted to key Brian’s car and pull his hair out.

Probably not the best state of mind to go to work with.

Sandra gave me a ride since my car had been out of commission for five years and I gladly listened to the morning talk shows as we crept along in traffic.

You ready to see him? Sandra asked.

I don’t know. Right now, I want him to hurt as much as I do. I’m not sure what that makes me, but there it is.

Hopefully, things don’t get awkward. Sandra assured.

I smiled. Hopefully, I didn’t murder Brian in front of the whole agency.

As soon as I walked into the office, I felt a bit more in control. I was good at my job although, I admit, it wasn’t the one that I’d initially saw myself doing. I still planned on becoming a lawyer, but I was making really good money and taking out student loans to finish my degree had not appealed to me.

I walked through the halls, greeting my coworkers and breathing a sigh of relief every second that I did not see Brian. I wanted to postpone that moment for as long as possible.

I settled into my cubicle with zero Brian sightings and relaxed a bit, enjoying my homey little box. When I was promoted, I assumed that I’d be leaving the cubicle life far behind. Wishful thinking. In the three years I’d officially worked at the Maladon Resorts and Holdings, my cubicle had seen many decorative changes and even a small potted plant or two.

Today, I was bombarded with pictures of Brian and me together. Seething, I snatched every picture and stomped it into the trash, muttering about dogs and men.

Are you okay? Ginger, my tall, model-esque co-worker, glanced at me in concern.

I’m great. I lied through gritted teeth, awkwardly removing my leg from the trashcan.

You sure? She glanced at my desk, now bare of romantic photographs and frames.

I’m sure.

Nodding as though she did not believe me, Ginger waltzed in and handed over some documents that I needed to read over for