Pamela Yaye - Her Kind of Man

Kenyon Blake was standing in front of her as if it was the most natural thing in the world. The years had been kind to him. He had transformed from an adorable teen into one fine-looking man. Kenyon was extra tall. Extra dark. And extra handsome. The width of his shoulders suggested he was a man of great strength. His straight nose, sensuously wide mouth and smoldering brown eyes fueled his bad-boy look. His skin was a dark shade of brown, clear and nice. A single diamond stud clung to his right ear, and the chain around his neck held a cross at the end.

“You must be Ms. Stevens,” Kenyon said. “Sorry I’m late, but Terrance’s hockey practice ran long. I’m his—”

“Oh, of course,” she replied. “You’re here for the interview.”

has a bachelor’s degree in Christian education and has been writing short stories since elementary school. Her love for African-American fiction and literature prompted her to pursue a career in writing romance. When she’s not reading or working on her latest novel, she’s watching basketball (go Pistons!), cooking or planning her next vacation. Pamela lives in Calgary, Canada, with her husband and daughter. She loves to hear from readers, so visit her at www.Pamelayaye.com.

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Dear Reader,

My dad is a news junkie. So is my husband. I try to keep informed of what’s going on in the world, but these days the stories of pain and suffering are just overwhelming. One day last year, my dad called me and I could hear the news blaring in the background (what else is new?). When I asked what he was watching, he told me the story of a seven-year-old girl who was handcuffed and escorted out of her elementary school by police. I was dumbfounded! Once I found my voice, I said, “Could you imagine how much pain that child is in to physically attack someone who only wants what’s best for her?” Out of this tragic, real-life story came the idea of a stern but loving teacher, a cute, rebellious student and one hot, sexy uncle!

I wrote Her Kind of Man while I was six months pregnant. When my son passed away four days after birth, I was reminded of a Bible verse about destiny. No man is promised tomorrow, so while we’re here, we have to make the most of our days. I hope Makayla and Kenyon’s story will inspire you to follow your dreams. It doesn’t matter how difficult it may seem; with love and faith, anything is possible!

Be blessed and walk in your destiny!

Pamela Yaye

This book is dedicated in loving memory to my son,

JUSTICE MOUKALLA YAYE, born on August 14, 2007.

Not a day goes by that I don’t think about you, miss you and

wish that you were here. Your time on earth was brief, just

long enough to say hello, but you made a valuable impression

on us all and your footprint is still on our hearts. Mommy

misses you, Justice. I love you, little one. We all do.

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

“You’re incompetent!”

“Excuse me?” Makayla Stevens gripped the phone so hard, a sharp pain whizzed up her arm. “I’ve done nothing but help Terrance.”

“Has it ever occurred to you that maybe you’re the problem?”

“No, because Terrance is having issues in his other classes, as well. He—”

“Sure, and I’m supposed to believe you.”

“Mrs. Blake, each incident has been clearly documented and—”

Click.

“Hello? Hello?” The dial tone buzzed in her ear. Makayla stared down at the receiver, eyes wide, mouth agape. It wasn’t the first time she’d argued with a parent about their child’s behavior, but she had never been spoken to in such a scathing manner.

Throughout their conversation, Makayla had heard gleeful revving noises in the background and knew that Terrance was playing nearby. But that didn’t stop Mrs. Blake from punctuating her sentences with lively curse words. It was no wonder the five-year-old was a holy terror.

In the ten years Makayla had been teaching, she had never met a child she didn’t like—until now. Only a month into the school year and Terrance Blake had been sent to the principal’s office five times. Mr. Gibson gave his support, but Makayla had a feeling he blamed her for Terrance’s intolerable behavior. In the last month she’d used all of her “tricks” but there was no change in Terrance. Extra computer time, positive reinforcement and glow-in-the-dark stickers didn’t help, either. Terrance was as bad as ever. He swiped things off her desk when he thought no one was looking, bullied his peers and lied openly.

Makayla picked up Terrance’s file. It was heavier than the Bible. She had to do something fast. Mrs. Blake had threatened to file a grievance against her with the Philadelphia school board. Still, her co-workers had assured her she had nothing to worry about. One complaint from an angry parent wasn’t going to ruin her otherwise stellar performance record.

Unruffled by Mrs. Blake’s threats, she picked up the phone and hit redial. On the third ring, the answering machine came on. How can Mrs. Blake be unavailable when she just hung up on me?

When the automated voice prompted her to leave her name and number, Makayla said, “Hello, Mrs. Blake. It’s Ms. Stevens again. Somehow our call got disconnected. I am calling to remind you that parent-teacher interviews are tomorrow night. Your appointment is at 7:15 p.m. I look forward to seeing you then. Goodbye.”

After carefully replacing the receiver, she crossed off the last name on her class list. Now that all of the parents and guardians had been called and reminded about the interviews, she could call it a day.

Pushing herself up from her chair, she rubbed her hands over her chilled shoulders. A draft of cool air rushed into the room through the partially open window. Once the window was closed, Makayla surveyed her first-grade classroom. Vivid paint, colorful posters and children’s art decorated the walls. A thick piece of red carpet sat in front of Makayla’s desk, a row of computers lined the far side of the room and three lumpy beanbag chairs sat near the overcrowded bookshelf.

The distant sound of car horns suggested rush-hour traffic was in full swing. A quick glance at her watch confirmed that it was indeed five o’clock. If Makayla wanted to be on time for karate class, she had to leave now. Shrugging on her jacket, she swung her tote bag over her shoulder and hurried out of her classroom.

“I hate men,” Makayla announced, yanking off her headband and chucking it into her gym bag. “Especially the fine ones. They cause the most trouble.”