Another Woman's Man

by Shelly Ellis

  “Okay, talk to you later,” Cynthia said before hanging up her phone.

  She was just about to turn away from the foyer window and head back toward the sitting room where she could hear—even from here—Reginald answer with yet another, “Whatever you want, baby,” when something caught her eye. She pulled back the curtain panel again and squinted at an unfamiliar car parked in the driveway.

  A woman sat in a tan Grand Marquis, staring out the windshield. Her car was parked behind Yolanda’s. The woman had a pen in her hand and was furiously scribbling on a sheet of paper perched on the steering wheel.

  “I wonder who that is,” Cynthia muttered.

  She slowly opened the front door, stepped onto the limestone, and stood underneath the archway of the loggia. She rubbed her arms and shoulders against the chill in the air, walked down the steps, and waved at the mysterious woman.

  “Hello! Welcome to Glenn Dale!” Cynthia called. “May I help you?”

  The woman froze and suddenly looked up from her sheet of paper. Her brown face was slightly obscured by the oversized faux fur hat she was wearing, but Cynthia could see the woman’s panicked expression instantly. The woman pushed back her hat and gazed up at Cynthia.

  Her plump face was covered in about two tons of makeup. She wore false eyelashes that fluttered like window shades as she blinked. With the press of a button, she lowered her car window.

  “I-I just wondered if you knew whose car that is,” the woman asked hesitantly, pointing at Yolanda’s Mercedes.

  “Yes, I do, but . . .” Cynthia narrowed her eyes suspiciously. “Why do you want to know?”

  The woman’s panicked expression abruptly disappeared. She pushed back her shoulders. Her face became stern. “Because I saw whoever was driving that car,” she said, jabbing her stubby finger at Yolanda’s Mercedes again, “walk in with my Reggie, and I wanna know who the hell she is!”

  My Reggie? Oh hell, Cynthia thought. It seemed that Yolanda might not be the only woman in homely Reginald’s life. But that was neither here nor there. Yolanda was the one who was sporting the engagement ring. This chick would just have to accept defeat and step aside.

  “Ma’am, this is private property. Unless you would like to schedule a tour of the mansion or the grounds, I’m going to have to ask you to—”

  “Well, if you won’t tell me who the hell she is, can you at least tell me why they’re here?” the woman exclaimed.

  Cynthia loudly cleared her throat. “What Mr. Whitfield and his fiancée are doing here today is, frankly, none of your business.”

  The woman gaped. Her drawn-on eyebrows shot up an inch. “His . . . his fiancée?”

  “Yes,” Cynthia said with a mocking grin and a nod, “his fiancée. Now again, if you aren’t scheduling a tour, would you kindly leave?”

  The woman’s expression darkened. She raised the car window, turned on the engine, and threw the car into reverse. Cynthia had to jump out of the way to keep from getting hit by the car’s bumper as the vehicle suddenly lurched backward. The woman then did a three-point turn before speeding off, sending up a spew of gravel, dirt, and day-old snow.

  Chapter 6

  Xavier rushed from the glass-enclosed conference room, making quick business of getting back to his office. The early-morning meeting had run long, and the list of things he still had to do today was even longer.

  “Hey, Xavier! Xavier, wait up!” someone shouted behind him.

  He turned slightly to see Byron Lattisaw, another member of the Allen Enterprises corporate counsel team, smiling and jogging to catch up with him.

  Xavier stifled a grumble.

  Though he had known Byron for more than a decade, the fellow corporate climber wasn’t one of Xavier’s favorite people. Byron was much better at schmoozing and ass kissing than he was at his actual job, which meant he passed the burden for most of his work onto his overwhelmed underlings.

  Byron had a similar wealthy background to Xavier’s fiancée, Constance. The Lattisaws and Allens belonged to the same country club. Constance and Byron went to the same prep schools and similar Ivy League colleges. They got the same lavish gifts for their birthdays and graduations. But while growing up with a silver spoon in her mouth had made Constance innocent and sheltered, Byron came off to Xavier as the most pretentious asshole that ever was.

  “What’s up?” Xavier asked, not breaking his stride as he walked toward the elevators. “I’m in a bit of a hurry.”

  “Yeah, I can see that,” Byron said. His smile widened into a grin. He thumped Xavier on his broad shoulder. “Look, I just wanted to let you know that if you need any help—I mean any help at all with that whole Spencer debacle, I’m more than happy to offer you my assistance.”

  Xavier did a double take. Wait! Was Byron actually volunteering to help do something? Xavier glanced out the floor-to-ceiling windows along the seventh-floor corridor, making sure pigs weren’t actually flying past the city landscape. He then glanced at Byron warily. Byron volunteering to do work instantly made Xavier suspicious.

  “Why do you want to help?” Xavier asked as he pressed the up elevator button.

  Byron shrugged. The smug grin didn’t leave his brown face. “This Spencer thing is an important matter to Herb, the board, and the credibility of the company. Of course I want to help! It should be taken care of as soon as possible!”

  The “Spencer thing” was a reference to Monique Spencer, a former Allen Enterprises accountant who was now threatening to sue the company for the “pain and mental anguish” she endured as a result of sexual harassment by one of the company’s upper-level managers. But prior to being let go for poor work performance five months ago, Spencer hadn’t breathed a word to anyone about the harassment—not her direct boss, Human Resources, or even her coworkers. She hadn’t shared in her legal claim the identity of the upper-level manager that harassed her either.

  The lawyer Spencer hired was willing to go through arbitration for now, but he had been pushing for a sizeable settlement: a whopping two million dollars. Because the matter was so delicate, Herb had asked Xavier to be the go-to guy on this one. He trusted Xavier to make the right decision.

  The stainless steel elevator doors opened and Xavier and Byron stepped inside.

  “I suggest we push for a quick settlement,” Byron said, unbuttoning his suit jacket and shoving his hands into his pockets. “Take care of it quickly. No need to drag this out and mar the company’s reputation.”

  “But her claim is ridiculous!” Xavier argued as the elevator car traveled to the twenty-second floor where his and Byron’s offices were located. A continuous beep filled the car, marking their ascent. “She’s claiming sexual harassment, but she has no proof. This is obviously just a shakedown. She refuses to name the guy who harassed her, so we can’t hear his side of the story or make sure he’s terminated so that we can distance ourselves from him. She doesn’t want him punished for mistreatment. She isn’t trying to take a stand against sexual harassment. She’s made it pretty damn clear that all she wants is money.”

  “Which is why we should give her what she wants,” Byron insisted. “It’ll make her go away!”

  The doors opened and both men stepped onto the plush carpet. They were greeted instantly by the receptionist, who sat behind a large lacquer desk. The stainless steel Allen Enterprises sign sat four feet behind her.

  “Hi, Mr. Hughes, Mr. Lattisaw,” the young woman said perkily, shifting aside the mouthpiece of her headset.

  Xavier gave her a polite nod. “Good morning, Jen.”

  “Morning, lovely,” Byron echoed. “That’s a sexy dress you’re wearing.” He winked at her, making her giggle.

  Xavier was taken aback. Here they were having a conversation about sexual harassment and Byron was flirting with the receptionist. Not to mention Byron was married. His wife Kelly probably wouldn’t appreciate that little compliment he had given Jennifer.

  Now Xavier knew even more why he didn’t like this guy.


  “But what about the pregnancy,” Byron continued as they walked down the hall, returning to their discussion. “That’s proof enough, isn’t it? If we give her the money, then make her sign a—”

  “Yes, she’s pregnant, but that still doesn’t prove anything. From what I understand, she isn’t that far along. She could have gotten pregnant after she was fired.” Xavier shook his head. “Look, I’m sympathetic to her plight. The guy who got her pregnant—even if he is an employee of Allen Enterprises—should be held accountable for what he did. But that doesn’t mean the company itself should foot the bill. She should go after him, not us! Make him stand up and accept his responsibilities.”

  They reached the end of the corridor and rounded a corner.

  “That’s a noble sentiment, Xavier,” Byron said dryly, “but wouldn’t it be better to—”

  “Oh, Xavier! There you are!” his office assistant, Ramona, exclaimed as they walked toward her desk. The middle-aged woman let out a deep breath and frantically waved a note in the air. “Thank God! You’ve got three messages. I tried to patch into the meeting to let you know, but the secretary down there said that machine isn’t working today.”

  “Three messages?” Xavier frowned. “Were they that urgent? The person couldn’t just leave a voicemail?”

  “No, she could not,” Ramona said through tightened wrinkled lips as she peered at him over the top of her glasses.

  Xavier took the slips of paper, wondering if maybe something was up with his mother. He hoped not. Leslie Ann Hughes was a widow who lived alone in Columbia, Maryland, with her two beloved sheepdogs, Lenny and Squiggy. The two dogs were named after the characters on one of his mother’s favorite old TV shows, Laverne & Shirley, and the pooches were as screwy as their namesakes. Leslie Ann wasn’t old but Xavier still worried about something bad happening to her all alone in that big house.

  But when he read the messages, he realized they weren’t from his mom, but from Constance. Xavier rolled his eyes at one of the messages’ multiple exclamation points, “Updates on Dawn, PLEASE!!!”

  Constance had been badgering him for almost a week about the promise he had made to her in bed to do more fact finding on Dawn Gibbons. He had agreed under duress. (Seduction counted as a form of duress, right?) He didn’t think Constance would actually hold him to it. But obviously he had thought wrong. She was growing impatient, and though he had finally managed to track down more information on Gibbons and had even scheduled a meeting with one of Dawn’s ex-husbands for later that day, Constance still felt he wasn’t moving fast enough.

  “Wow, Connie’s really cracking the whip, huh?” Byron chuckled as he read the messages over Xavier’s shoulder. “So do you get your nuts back after the wedding, or is she going to hold on to them permanently?”

  In response, Xavier bestowed Byron with a withering glare.

  “You know,” Byron continued, “if you need some lessons on how to get her to chill out, I can help you. Remember, I’ve known her a lot longer.”

  Xavier gritted his teeth. “Byron, why don’t we talk later? Like I mentioned before, I’m a little busy right now.”

  “Yeah, busy,” Byron said sarcastically with a snort. “Sure, I’ll catch you later.”

  “Asshole,” Xavier muttered as he watched Byron leave. He then turned to Ramona. “Thanks for taking these.” He gave an apologetic smile as he held up the messages.

  “Oh, it’s no problem, Xavier! That’s my job! I only hope everything’s OK. She seemed really anxious.”

  Xavier walked into his office a few seconds later, balled up the messages, and tossed them into the waste bin. He had another meeting with the company auditor in about twenty minutes, but he figured he should take the time to call Constance back lest Ramona have to deal with another deluge of messages. He shut his office door and dialed his fiancée’s cell number.

  “Pumpkin!” Constance cried with relief after the first ring. “I thought you’d never call me back!”

  He fell back into his desk chair. “I was in a meeting. Did you really have to leave three urgent messages with Ramona?”

  “Well, if you had called me back this morning when I—”

  “I told you that I was in a meeting, Connie.”

  “So are you making progress on the Dawn thing?”

  He sighed. “Yes, I am.”

  “So don’t be so tight-lipped, pumpkin! What did you find out?”

  “Besides the fact that she’s a gallery director, I know she has no children, has been married twice, and lives alone in a small town called Chesterton. She’s never gone to jail and hasn’t had anything more than a traffic ticket, so she has no criminal history.”

  “That’s it?” Constance cried. “That’s all you found out?”

  Xavier was tempted to remind his fiancée that he wasn’t getting paid to do this. Also, it wasn’t like he found it completely ethical to conduct a background check on Herb’s other daughter. But he bit his tongue.

  “That’s all I’ve found out for now. But I’m supposed to talk to one of her ex-husbands today. Maybe he’ll tell me more about her.”

  “I hope so, pumpkin. Like I said, I don’t want Daddy to get too close to this woman if she’s just going to take advantage of him.”

  “I understand, baby.” He glanced at the clock on his desk. “Look, I’ve got to go. I’ve got another meeting I have to run to.”

  “OK, just call me when—”

  “Don’t worry. I’ll call you this evening to tell you everything. Talk to you later. Oh, and, uh, love you. Bye,” he said hastily before hanging up the line.

  Xavier stood from his chair and grimaced. He hated rushing Constance off the phone, but her anxiousness was starting to get really irritating. He just hoped whatever he learned today would finally alleviate her fears.

  “Clinton Parks?” Xavier asked as he walked toward the restaurant table.

  The man slowly lowered his drink, looked up from his menu, and nodded. He stood and extended his hand to Xavier. “Yes, and you must be Xavier Hughes.”

  Xavier firmly shook his hand and pulled out a chair. “Pleased to meet you.”

  They both sat down.

  Funny, Xavier thought. Dawn’s ex-husband wasn’t quite what he had pictured. A sophisticated, beautiful woman like her seemed like she could have just about any man she wanted, but in front of him sat a so-so-looking black man of average height who had to be almost Herb’s age. In fact, Clinton Parks’s only distinguishing characteristic was the wealth he emanated. It radiated from his Armani suit and his Gucci watch, from his leather shoes and his diamond pinkie ring. Xavier had grown up on the periphery of men like this. Some rich men like Herb were kind and humble. Others like Byron Lattisaw were true assholes. He wondered which one Clinton Parks was.

  “Thank you for agreeing to meet me today,” Xavier said. “I know my invitation came out of the blue.”

  “Oh, no problem. I was intrigued by the invitation more than anything else. Found it hard to say no.”

  A sultry-looking waitress suddenly appeared behind Parks.

  “Hello, gentlemen,” she said. “Are you ready to order lunch? I could tell you about today’s specials.”

  Parks reached up and grabbed the waitress’s hand, catching Xavier off guard. The woman’s polite smile tightened, but she didn’t tug her hand away though Xavier could tell she was uncomfortable.

  “Give us a few more minutes, honey,” Parks said softly, rubbing her wrist with his thumb. “My friend here hasn’t had a chance to look at the menu yet.”

  She nodded. Her pale cheeks flushed bright red. “S-s-sure. There’s, uh . . . no rush. Take your time.” She pulled her hand away.

  Parks’s eyes stayed riveted on her ass as she walked off. He finally turned back around to face Xavier and chuckled.

  “Cute girl. She reminds me a lot of my third wife.”

  “You don’t say,” Xavier mumbled, instantly disliking the man.

  “I’ll ask for her phone
number before I leave.” Parks raised his chilled glass to his lips. “Always on the lookout for wife number five.”

  Xavier clenched his jaw. Well, he guessed he knew what category of rich men Parks fell into.

  “So you want to know about Dawn?” Parks asked with a sly grin.

  Xavier nodded, grateful for the subject change. “Sure. Whatever information about her you’re willing to share.”

  “You aren’t marrying her, are you?”

  Xavier frowned.

  “ ’Cuz if you are, make sure you get a prenup. Learn from my mistake! That girl can get pretty expensive. She cost me damn near a quarter of a million dollars before all was said and done. But she taught me a lesson.” He tapped his index finger on the table. “All my wives after that, I made them sign on the dotted line before I said any vows. I don’t care how much they claimed they loved me.”

  “No, I’m not marrying her. I’m just on a-a fact-finding mission for a client of mine.” He cleared his throat. “So Dawn was wife number . . .”

  “Number two. I started dating her around the time I was divorcing my first wife.” Parks smirked. “She was quite the beauty back then.”

  She still is, Xavier was about to say, but stopped himself. He knew that comment was inappropriate coming from someone who was supposed to be strictly on a “fact-finding mission.”

  “She was on staff at a museum . . . one of the assistants. We met at a party one night in D.C. I thought I had spotted her across the room first, but it turns out, she spotted me long before that.” He laughed. “I didn’t find out that important fact until much later—too late, if you want to know the truth.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I mean that she had already tracked me down before I met her. She knew who I was. I think she might have even planned to meet me that night. She came with a mission and she accomplished it.”

  Xavier’s brows furrowed in confusion. “Which was?”