“Horace, you ready?” Valerie asked, reaching for her designer tote bag sitting on one of the round end tables flanking the leather sofa. “The town council is cutting the ribbon on the Spring Bazaar, and I do not want to be late.”
He eyed his wife as she smoothed her white-gloved hands over the skirt of the pale apricot floral lace dress she wore. It was beautiful and fit her frame well, but it was completely over the top for a local bazaar being held on the grounds of the middle school that offered the works of artists and crafters with plenty of vendors, good food, rides and live music.
“Has she always been so extra?” Ngozi whispered to her dad as her mother reapplied her sheer coral lip gloss.
“Yes, and I love every bit of it,” he said with warm appreciation in his tone.
Ngozi looked at him, clearly a man still enthralled by his wife.
I want someone to look at me that way.
Not someone. Chance.
Ngozi pushed thoughts of him away.
“I never wanted to marry until I met and eventually fell in love with your mother,” Horace said, walking over to wrap his arm around his wife’s waist and pull her close. They began to sway together as they looked into each other’s eyes.
“Right,” Valerie agreed. “And I was so career driven that at thirty-nine I began to assume I would never find love and have a family of my own...until your daddy put on the full-court press for my attention. I never assumed this man I competed with in the courtroom for so many years would turn into the love of my life.”
“Same here,” he agreed, doing a little shimmy and leading them into a spin.
“I tamed that dog,” she teased.
“The dog tamed himself,” he countered.
“So I guess your always loving that Vincent and Associates Law also spells out VAL isn’t proof enough that you’re sprung?” Valerie stroked his nape.
“And you’re not?” he asked, with a little jerk that pulled her body closer.
They shared an intimate, knowing laugh.
“Respect your elders, Horace,” she said. “You’re lucky I don’t make you call me Mrs. Vincent.”
“Two whole years older than me. Big deal,” he said.
Ngozi looked at them with pleasure at their happiness and a bit of melancholy that she didn’t have that, as well.
Her parents were in their early seventies but lived life—and looked—as if they were far younger.
“You’re going to wrinkle my dress, Horace,” Valerie said, not truly sounding as if she cared.
“Wait until you see what I do to it when I get you home,” he said low in his throat before nuzzling his face against her neck.
Ngozi rolled her eyed. “Helllllooo, I’m still here. Daughter in the room,” she said.
“And? How you think you got here, little girl?” Valerie asked, ending their dance with a kiss that cleared her lips of the gloss she’d just applied. “Your conception was not immaculate.”
“But it was spectacular,” Horace said.
“Don’t you make us late,” she said in playful warning.
Ngozi walked across the spacious family room. “Okay, let me help mosey y’all along,” she said over her shoulder as she left the room and crossed the foyer to open the front door.
They followed behind her.
“Any chance you’re going to change?” Valerie asked, eying the overalls.
In the past, Ngozi would have found a pretty spring dress to wear to please her mother, complete with pearls and a cardigan. “No, ma’am.”
“Leave her be, Val,” Horace said before leaving the house and taking the stairs down to his silver two-door Rolls Royce Wraith sitting on the paved drive.
Valerie quietly made prayer hands in supplication as she left.
“See you later at the bazaar, Ma,” Ngozi said, closing the door.
She turned and leaned against it, looking at her home. She was proud she had taken a large space and infused it with warmth and color. Not even the apartment she’d shared with her husband had her personal touch. She had chosen what she thought he would like.
No, this is all me.
Ngozi closed her eyes and just enjoyed being in her own place and her own space for the first time in her life.
Ding-dong.
The doorbell startled her. Ngozi’s heartbeat was racing as she turned to open the door. She smiled at Josh, one of the high school kids who served as deliverymen for The Gourmet Way, the grocery store on Main Street that specialized in delicacies.
“Hello, Ms. Johns, I have your weekly delivery,” the tall freckle-faced blond said with a smile that showed off his Invisalign braces.
“Come on in,” she said, closing the door when he obeyed and then leading him with the heavy black basket he carried through the family room, which opened into the gourmet kitchen.
Josh set the basket on top of the marble island.
“Are you going to the Spring Bazaar?” Ngozi asked as she removed a twenty-dollar bill from the billfold sitting with files and her laptop on the large kitchen table before the open French doors.
“As soon as my shift is over,” he said, accepting the tip with a polite nod.
“See you there,” she offered as he turned to leave.
“Bye, Ms. Johns.”
Ngozi opened the basket and removed the perishables to place in her fridge or freezer, deciding to leave the little things like chutneys, a canister of caviar, bottles of cordials and black garlic. She did allow herself a treat of thinly sliced soppressata, broke a small piece off the ball of fresh mozzarella and wrapped both around a garlic-stuffed olive.
“Vegan who?” she said before taking a bite.
Mmm.
After popping the last bite into her mouth, she cleaned her moist fingertips on a napkin before reclaiming her seat at the table. She had an office upstairs in one of the spare bedrooms, but the light was the brightest and the breeze from outside the best at the kitchen table. It was Saturday, but she had a court case to prepare for in defense of an heir charged with murdering his parents.
The Skype incoming-call tone sounded from her tablet.
Ngozi eyed it, reaching over the open files with pen in hand to tap the screen and accept the video, then propping the tablet up by its case. She laughed as her goddaughter’s face filled the screen and she released a spit bubble that exploded. “Hello, Aliyah,” she cooed.
“Hewwoo, Godmommy!”
Ngozi arched a brow. “Really, Alessandra, I thought you were a co-CEO of a billion-dollar corporation, not offering voice characterizations for the cutest baby in the world,” she drawled.
Alessandra sat Aliyah on her lap in her office and smiled into the screen over the top of her reading glasses. “I do both. I’m complex,” she said with a one-shoulder shrug.
“A woman’s worth,” Ngozi said.
“Right...although Alek is pretty hands-on with her. I can’t really complain. In the boardroom, bedroom and nursery, we are getting the job done together.”
“Why can’t we all be that lucky?” Ngozi said wistfully.
“We all could,” Alessandra said with a pointed look.
Chance.
Her friend had thankfully agreed not to mention him, but it was clear from the way Alessandra stopped that his name almost tumbled from her lips.
Ngozi looked out the window at the trees neatly surrounding the backyard without really seeing them. At a different time in their lives, what they shared could have blossomed into that lifetime of love her parents had. She smiled at the thought of Chance—older, wiser and more handsome—lovingly teasing her as they danced to their music no one else heard.
“I thought we could ride to the bazaar together,” Alessandra offered.
“I’ll probably walk. The school isn’t that far from here,” she said.
&nb
sp; “Alek and Naim, his brother, are in London on business...so you won’t be third-wheeling, as you call it.”
Ngozi smiled.
“I’m on the way.”
She ended the Skype call and rose to close the French doors before she grabbed her wallet and billfold. She dropped those items into the bright orange designer tote bag sitting on the half-moon table by the door. She used the half bath off the foyer to freshen up before sliding her feet into leather wedges and applying bright red lip gloss.
On the security screen, she saw the black 1954 Jaguar MK VII sedan that had belonged to Alessandra’s father. Ngozi slid her tote onto the crook of her arm and left the house. Roje, Alessandra’s driver, climbed from the car. The middle-aged man with a smooth bald head and silvery goatee looked smart and fit in his black button-up shirt and slacks as he left the car to open the rear door for her.
The scent of his cologne was nice, and Ngozi bit back a smile as she remembered the private moments he had shared with Alessandra’s mother-in-law. She could easily see how the man was hard for LuLu to resist.
“Thank you,” Ngozi said to him before climbing in the rear of the car beside Aliyah’s car seat.
“Soo...does Alek know about his mother and your driver?” Ngozi asked as she allowed six-month-old Aliyah to grip her index finger.
Alessandra gasped in surprise.
Ngozi gave her friend a look that said deny it.
“I plead the fifth.”
“You can plead whatever. I know what I saw,” Ngozi said, eyeing Roje coming around the front of the vintage car through the windshield mirror.
“What?” Alessandra asked.
Aliyah cooed as if she, too, was curious.
“You tell what you know, and I’ll tell what I know. Then we’ll keep their secret,” she said.
Roje climbed into the driver’s seat and eyed the women in the rearview mirror before starting the car. “Ready?” he asked, his voice deep and rich.
They both nodded and gave him a smile.
Roje eyed them oddly before pulling off down the driveway.
They rode in silence until they reached Passion Grove Middle, a stately brick building with beautiful ivy topiaries and a large playground surrounded by wrought iron finish with scrollwork. Like most community events in the small town, attendance was high, with those from neighboring cities attending the annual affair, as well.
“The elusive Lance Millner is doing a book signing?” Ngozi asked after reading the large sign as Roje pulled the car to a stop before the open gate.
“That’s a first around here,” Alessandra said.
“Hell, I have never seen him without that damn hat on,” Ngozi said. “I have got to see this.”
“Ladies, you go in and I’ll search for some parking on the street,” Roje said, climbing from the driver’s seat to open the rear door and then retrieve the folded stroller.
“Good idea. Thanks,” Alessandra said, unsnapping Aliyah from her car seat.
Ngozi climbed from the car and looked at the crowd milling around the artwork and crafts on display, the vendors selling their wares, food trucks offering tasty treats, live music offering entertainment, and a few carnival rides on the athletic fields for the children.
“Roje, I’m sure you don’t want to hang around for this, so you can go and come back for us in a few,” Alessandra said.
Ngozi turned just as Roje smiled and inclined his head in agreement.
“I would like to run a quick errand,” he admitted.
“To Manhattan?” Alessandra asked.
LuLu Ansah lived in a beautiful penthouse apartment on the upper east side.
Roje’s expression was curious as he pulled mirror shades from the front pocket of his shirt and slid them on his face. “Would you like me to pick up something for you in the city?” he asked, sidestepping her question.
“A little happiness for yourself,” Alessandra said.
“I wish,” he admitted. “Sometimes life gets in the way.”
Ngozi thought of Chance. Her love had not been enough to stop life from getting in their way.
* * *
Chance sat on his private plane, looking out the window at the clouds seeming to fade as darkness descended. In the two weeks since he’d met his father, he hadn’t returned to see him again. Instead, he had continued his tour around the world. Paris. London. China. And now he was headed to his estate in Cabrera.
He pulled his wallet from his back pocket and opened it to remove the well-worn envelope.
More than anything, it was his siblings he was avoiding. He wasn’t ready. Chance was well aware that he was a man of considerable means, and he had no idea what Pandora’s box of problems he was setting himself up for with the inclusion of so many new people in his life. Suddenly. And perhaps suspiciously.
Was his father’s sudden need for reconciliation more about his guilt as death neared, or his discovery of his sudden billionaire status?
I’d be a fool not to consider that.
He was just as aware he was in a position to help people who were his family by default. By blood.
I’d be an asshole not to consider that.
Chance put the envelope back in its safe spot inside his wallet before rising from his ergonomic reclining chair to walk to his bedroom suite. He was exhausted from his quests and ready to settle down in one spot to rest and relax. Nothing spoke more of relaxation to him than being on his estate in Cabrera.
Except making love to Ngozi.
He thought of her. Moments they had shared in fun or in sex. Her smile. Her scent. Her touch.
Damn. When will I get over her?
He flopped over onto his back and unlocked his iPhone to pull up a picture of her in his bed, her body covered by a sheet as she playfully stuck her tongue out at him.
When will my love go away?
He deleted the picture and dropped his phone onto the bed, wishing like hell it was that easy to erase her from his thoughts and his heart.
* * *
“Congratulations on another win, Ngozi.”
“Do you even know what an L is?”
“Congrats.”
“Ngozi, good win.”
“District attorneys hate to see you coming, Counselor.”
Ngozi kept her facade cool, like it was just another day at work, accepting each bit of praise as she made her way through the offices of Vincent and Associates Law. She smiled, thinking of her parents’ inside joke about the acronym. This was the house Horace Vincent had built, and his love for his wife was in the name.
And now I’m making my mark.
Instead of heading to her office, Ngozi turned and rode the elevator up one story to the executive offices of the senior partners. “Good afternoon, Ms. Johns,” the receptionist for the senior partners greeted her.
“Good afternoon, Evelyn,” she said, always making sure in her years at the firm to know the name of each staff member.
To her, that was one of the true signs of leadership.
“Can I get anything for you?” Evelyn asked.
“Not a thing but thank you. I just want to hang out in my dad’s office for a little bit,” she said softly, moving past the reception desk.
“Actually, he’s in today.”
Ngozi paused and looked back at her in surprise. “Really?” she said, unsure why she suddenly felt nervous.
Evelyn nodded before turning her attention to the ringing phone.
Large executive offices were arranged in a horseshoe pattern around the reception area, but it was the office dominating the rear wall of the floor toward which she walked. Her briefcase lightly slapped against the side of her leg in the silk oxblood suit she wore with matching heels. Reaching the white double doors, she knocked twice before opening the door.
“Getting
my office ready for me, Pops?” she quipped, but the rest of her words faded as all five managing partners of Vincent and Associates Law turned to eye her.
Ngozi dropped her head abashedly. “My apologies, I thought my father was here alone,” she said, moving forward to offer her hand to each partner.
“It will be yours one day, Ngozi,” her father said as she came to stand beside his desk. “Just as soon as you’re ready.”
She nodded in agreement. Her father offered her no shortcuts to success, and she never expected any. She would become the principal partner of the firm her father started by consistent wins and proven leadership, bringing in high-level clients with strong billable hours. She was just thirty, and although she was making good headway, she had a long journey ahead of her.
Ngozi didn’t want it any other way.
“More wins like today definitely doesn’t hurt,” Angela Brinks, a sharp and decisive blonde in her early sixties, offered.
“Thank you,” Ngozi said, holding her briefcase in front of her. “It was a tough acquittal, but my staff pulled it out and the client is heavily considering moving some other corporate business our direction.”
“I understand you played a role in Chance Castillo putting VAL on retainer to oversee his corporate and business matters,” Greg Landon said.
Chance.
Her heart seemed to pound against her chest.
She hadn’t known that. She made it her business to avoid even discovering the outcome of his case.
“Everything okay?” her father asked.
Get it together, Ngozi.
“Yes,” she said. “Actually, I’m going to leave you all to the meeting I interrupted. I actually have another case to prep.”
“Federal, right?” Monique Reeves asked. She was the newest managing partner—and the youngest, at forty-five.
Ngozi found the woman smart, formidable and tenacious—her role model, particularly as an African American woman.
“I would offer you my expertise in that arena...but I don’t think you need it. Still, the offer is on the table,” Monique said.
“Thank you, Monique, that’s good to know,” she said before moving toward the door. “Have a good day, everyone.”
Tempting the Billionaire Page 14