Preacher and The Prostitute by Barrett Brenda

Author:Barrett, Brenda
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: urban fiction, african american fiction, contemporary romance, inspirational romance, christian romance, multicultural romance, african american romance, african american christian fiction, christian romance novel, afro romance, christian fiction romance
Publisher: Brenda Barrett

Maribel stared at the numbers floating across her computer screen. One of the partners, Mr. Hayles, had stopped at her office and complimented her on her work on the Hodges Construction account but it did not put a dent in the prevailing depression that shrouded her like a cloak, a tight suffocating cloak.

After Thelma had slyly tried to find out if she was a porn queen, she had this feeling of impending doom—that any minute now her world was going to explode into tiny fragments around her.

She had tried to avoid Brian but he emailed, texted and called her incessantly. Damn the information age. She couldn’t escape him and she couldn’t escape her dratted naked photos. Every time she thought that she had some peace, her past kept popping up somewhere.

She opened her computer browser and typed in “Peaches Jamaica” and up popped her image on five DVD covers, the very first images on Google’s search engine. She squeezed her eyes shut. The pictures were clearly of her—stark naked. She hurriedly closed the page and wiped it from the computer's history.

If it was on the Internet, it was there forever; hundreds of men and women had probably looked at it from around the world. She had never thought to search for her images before and now that she had, she felt like a prisoner condemned to hang.

Her past deeds would forever be a rope around her neck, wouldn’t they? She continually ran through the thoughts in her head until she felt a pain gathering in the region of her chest. She liked to think that her heart couldn’t take it anymore and was about to give way; they would find her dead in the office. Dead of a heart attack just a week before her twenty-fifth birthday.

Some smart person would start searching for her next of kin and would sniff around Negril until they came upon the truth that Maribel and Peaches were the same person. But it wouldn’t matter then because she’d be dead. All her friends and acquaintances could judge her then. She wouldn’t care. She wouldn’t give a …

“Maribel,” Vivian stuck her head around the door, “I got chocolates from England so here’s yours.”

“Paul’s mother is here, then?” Maribel asked, trying to inject some enthusiasm in her voice.

“Came last night,” Vivian said, placing the box of chocolates on the desk. “Apparently Paul told her that I am a chocolate lover. She carried her hand luggage full of it.”

“Okay,” Maribel said, turning back to her computer.

“You are going to tell me what is wrong with you,” Vivian demanded sternly. “I am getting tired of you walking around with a hangdog expression on your face. I know it’s not Mark that’s bothering you because I heard through the grapevine that he was caught en flagrante with this chick in Marketing. It’s being hushed up though, so he is very scarce around here.”

Maribel smiled. “His wife needs to know about him.”

Vivian shrugged. “Enough about that; tell me about you.”

“I will,” Maribel said, sighing, “just not today and not in this office.

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