If You Don't Know Me by Mary B. Morrison Page A

the theater on the entry level to the ballroom on the top floor, his condominium building at The Royalton had all the amenities I desired and more.
    Walking a few doors down, we were at Roosevelt’s place. Taking a good look at his firm buttocks, I entered behind him. This man was heavenly to hold and behold.
    Yet, how could I be 100 percent certain this was the right man for me? I couldn’t. I’d do what I believed would work. One, continue getting to know him. Two, be patient. Three, trust my gut instincts. I placed my purse and bag on the bar countertop.
    â€œHey, baby. You hungry?” I asked him opening his refrigerator.
    He looked down at my hips.
    â€œFor food,” I said smiling.
    â€œMy chef prepared a chili bean casserole and a spinach quiche. It’s in the oven. If you don’t mind heating it up, that would make your man happy,” he said kissing me.
    Wow, if I weren’t a woman of reason, I’d truly believe he was my man. Underestimating what Madison would do to keep him wasn’t in my plan.
    â€œAnything for you, handsome.” I meant that believing he’d do anything for me.
    â€œI’m going to take a quick shower.” He bit his bottom lip, slowly eased it from between his teeth, winked, then entered his bedroom.
    Quietly, I exhaled and removed my Jimmy Choo red sparkling open-toed slingback stilettos. The football team’s colors, red and blue, had become my new favorite since dating Roosevelt.
    I placed my heels next to his sofa, then washed my hands. A real woman never did more for a man than he did for her. Everything wasn’t monetary. I possibly had more money than Roosevelt could give me. For that, I thanked God. I probably should thank my father too, but the way he’d earned his millions wasn’t honest. Siara. I needed to Skype soon with my sister. I had missed a few sessions since being with Roosevelt.
    What I wanted from this man was simple—love, respect, and consideration. Those were my nonnegotiables. As basic as that was, most men didn’t give those things to a woman because he didn’t want to, she didn’t require him to, or he didn’t care about her feelings.
    The test I used to gauge how badly a man wanted me was to walk away shortly after meeting him. The one guarantee in every relationship was men displayed their characteristics and character flaws early. When a man showed me he was no good, I didn’t try to change him. I released him to the women who liked wolves.
    Programming the oven to 350 degrees, I set the dinner table for two. I poured a glass of scotch for him, champagne for me.
    The day Roosevelt took me to Brennan’s for dinner he’d patronized my profession, mildly devalued womanhood, and stepped away from the table to make a call. Since he’d done all of that on our first date before we’d ordered entrees, I left.
    If he’d called me later that night, which he did, he showed he cared. If he would’ve phoned the next day, that meant he was prideful and needed time to restore his ego. If Roosevelt hadn’t called for two days, I would’ve been done. A forty-eight-hour delay was the sign of an insecure man and I’d never invest in that type of person.
    Glancing up at the beautiful white crown molding around his ceiling, I frowned. There was an unusual gap in the corner. A closer looked revealed the spacing in the other corners was consistent. I imagined it was a construction defect.
    â€œHey, the table looks nice,” Roosevelt said as he stood behind me. He hugged my waist, gently swept my hair over my shoulder, then kissed the nape of my neck.
    â€œIs there something wrong with your molding?” I asked pointing toward the ceiling.
    â€œLet’s focus on what’s right. You and me.”
    I faced him. Eyes didn’t lie. This man loved me so much I felt it. “In fifteen minutes, you can take the dishes out of the oven and placed them on