Chapter 1

Wolves In Sheep’s Clothing

I met Sheila Fisher during my short stint as a classroom aide at Rosewood Elementary School. Sheila was the lead teacher of a fifth-grade class of students with special needs. I had just moved from New York to Atlanta and was in the process of pursuing a career as a paralegal. While taking classes, I still needed a job. A friend of a friend who worked in the school system shared how Rosewood was desperate for teacher assistants, and any old college degree would do. I applied, got hired, and was placed in the classroom of Ms. Sheila Fisher. I was nervous and not sure I was all that qualified, but Sheila said my warm and inviting personality and some patience would be all that was necessary. I wasn’t convinced. But Sheila was. Shelia had a way of making me believe almost anything.

Sheila was tall with copper skin and beautiful Native American features that mesmerized both men and women. I learned quickly that it was her sassy confidence that enhanced her beauty and, by extension, the intimidation. In that way, we were opposites, in my opinion. I may be soft on the eyes, but I don’t think I’ve ever captured adult attention the way Sheila did. With kids? I’ve got them wrapped around my finger. Especially Shelbi, my favorite little gem in the fifth-grade class. She’d run to me every morning and fling her pale arms around my waist. Apparently, before I came along, she barely said anything to anyone. “I told you you’re a natural,” Sheila said. “You’ve got it, Ms. Sophia

Jones! Now you just need to learn to flaunt it!”

It only took two months for us to become good friends. She was from New York, too, which gave us plenty to bond and bicker over being Bronx/Brooklyn rivals. We ate lunch together in the teacher’s lounge almost every day. I marveled at how she skillfully dodged the attempts at flirtatious banter the male teachers flung in her direction. Occasionally, I was tossed a scrap or two, but I figured it was out of politeness since I was sitting next to her. All I could ever do in return was blush.

Growing up the daughter of a strict, pious, and staunch bible-beating Baptist minister meant my sister Faith, and I were to save ourselves for “I do’s” at the altar. And even then, I fear my father’s wrath would follow me to my marriage bed if I showed the slightest hint of pleasure while my husband and I tried to conceive a child. But like most preachers’ kids, fearing fire, brimstone, and my father still didn’t keep me from getting kissed and felt up by the captain of the football team in high school or going a little buck wild in college. I sinned plenty, but those who knew me well would still consider me a “good girl.” I never went too fast, and I rarely ever made the first move. Some call it playing hard-to-get. I call it being selective, I guess. I can’t lie; there are many days I wished I had a fraction of the beguiling gumption of Ms. Sheila Fisher. But I can comfortably say I’ve held my own in my own way.

The end of the first semester fell on a Friday, and 2:30 PM could not come fast enough. Two whole weeks sans elementary school kids! I loved our students, but I was looking forward to a string of days without high-pitched squeals and barnyard-like smells. I was putting the last few chairs on top of desks when Sheila twirled into the classroom like Wonder Woman from carpool duty.

“Free at last!” She shouted.

“Thank God Almighty!” I laughed, matching her victory stance.

“Yes, ma’am! And guess what, Ms. Sophia Jones, I have some wonderful news for you!”

“Oh really? Do tell!”

“You are going out with me tonight!” Sheila exclaimed with a grin. My mouth gaped open, and prepared to protest. “Don’t even think about sayin’ no this time, Miss Thang, you’re going!”

Sheila loved to party. On Monday mornings before the kids arrived, I’d get an earful of the wild tales and spoils from the weekend before at her favorite night spot, Club LIV. She’d always ask me to come with her, and I’d always decline. My excuses were much lamer than the truth. It wasn’t so much I was too tired or too busy; it was more how I really wasn’t sure I could keep up.

“Chile, please,” I droned, waving her away with my signature coy blush.

“Chile, please, nothin'! You’re going, and that’s final,” she laughed. I scoffed again, but she could tell I was softening to the idea. “C’mon, girl! Look, it is the end of the week AND the start of winter break! My cousins and my brother are in town for the holidays, and they are ready to hang!”

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah, girl! They’re fun, and they like to spend money on pretty ladies, too!” Sheila winked and made her eyebrows dance up and down. “You and I both need to let off some steam, right? You know you want to.”

She was right. I did want to. It’s been a long time since I’ve been out clubbing. I hung out a lot in my twenties, but now in my thirties, it seems attempting to be more “settled” is the norm. Obviously, Sheila knew how to skillfully balance the two, and I was definitely out of practice. Since I moved here, I kept a steady diet of wake up, go to work, go to class, come home, and work on my condo. On the weekends, I replaced “go to work” with “go to Home Depot or Home Goods.” I did need a little excitement in my life, especially since I’d also be on break from Paralegal school. Going out with Sheila was sure to fit the bill (even if I was still concerned about my nightclub stamina). “All right,” I breathed in pretend defeat. “I’ll go. Club LIV, right?”

“Of course!”

“I don’t know if I have anything to wear! It’s been so long since I’ve partied, and Club LIV is serious when it comes to wardrobe!”

“Whatever, Sophia! With that bangin’ body you insist on covering up? You could show up in a paper bag and stop traffic!” She laughed. “But don’t do that, though. Wear something cute that shows off that boo-tay and a lil skin too!”

Sheila had a way of making me believe almost anything. She was appealing to my inner bad girl, and I wasn’t mad at her for it.

Since I would be out on the town that evening, I decided to stop by the grocery store on the way home to grab a few things as I most likely wouldn’t have the energy to do anything tomorrow. Knowing Sheila parties hard means I would probably party hard too. This prompted me to also stop by KFC to get some good greasy food to soak up whatever I might be drinking later on.

Whenever I walk through the front door of my apartment, I can’t believe my luck in finding this place. A swanky loft condo in the Reynoldstown area of Atlanta is not something one would usually be able to afford on a teacher’s salary, let alone an assistant teacher’s dismal paycheck. The drastic contrast between salaries and the cost of living in New York and Atlanta was a big help. My former law firm receptionist position paid double what I’m making now. I managed to save a bit of money before I moved in anticipation of the inevitable pay cut. Through research, I learned I’d get way more bang for my housing buck, but I never thought the bang would be this big.

While hunting for suitable apartments, I saw an article about how you can get a dream house for super cheap through foreclosures. I checked the Atlanta market, and sure enough, there was this gorgeous, spacious two-bedroom loft with exposed brick walls, immaculate hardwood floors, chef’s kitchen, and floor-to-ceiling windows going for a sliver of its original price tag. The mortgage on this place was less than the sky-high rent I was paying for the tiny closet-sized studio I had in New York! I would have been crazy not to snatch it up.

I see my home as one of the greatest blessings I have ever received. Like I was meant to be here. God wanted me to be here pursuing my career, and while He knew it was going to be a social and financial adjustment, He still saw fit to give me this palace… this sanctuary. Sometimes I just look around and whisper, “Thank you.” This place reminds me that I am truly blessed.

I had about ninety minutes to get ready before Sheila arrived, so I inhaled my two-piece dinner and headed for the shower. Good Lord, I love my bathroom! Whoever owned this place before me must have loved it too because out of all the rooms, this one was paid the most attention. A massive two-sink vanity, a circular spa tub big enough for two - maybe three, and a giant walk-in shower with multiple jets all encased in sparkling white marble, shiny chrome fixtures, and dark mahogany cabinetry. It’s like I live at the Ritz Carlton. It was by far my favorite space.

After my way-too-long shower, I thumbed through the clothes in my closet. Sheila’s words floated through my thoughts to the beat of Black Coffee by Heavy D. coming from my speakers. Wear something cute that shows off that boo-tay and a lil skin too! As if she was guiding my hand, I pulled out a sleeveless black jumpsuit I hadn't worn in a while. A year at least. Maybe two? It was a go-to when I had somewhere “nice” to go, and I could dress it up or down with the right shoes and accessories. Going to Club LIV meant I had to go up.

The jumpsuit was made of soft but...