Seducing Abby Rhodes

by J. D. Mason

  The question now was, how could she find her way back to herself? It was over between them. Abby had dodged a bullet, because Jordan Gatewood was not the man she’d thought he was. Maybe he wanted to be. She didn’t doubt that he was trying to turn over a new leaf. A near-death experience had certainly impacted him, and people deserved second chances. But he was drowning in guilt and responsibility for situations so devastating that Abby couldn’t even wrap her mind around them. Women loved Jordan, literally to death. She didn’t want to be one of those women.

  Abby’s ringing phone snapped her out of the fog she was lost in. She found the phone in the living room on the kitchen counter.

  “Hello?” she asked, not recognizing the number.

  “Marlowe gave me your number.” It was Ms. Shou.

  Abby was of course shocked. “Hey, Ms. Shou. What can I do for you?”

  A long pause and then a deep sigh came through the phone. “You need to finish what you started,” she said definitively.

  Abby rolled her eyes in frustration.

  “Roll ’em again,” Shou snapped. “I dare you.”

  “I’m not doing this,” Abby angrily retorted, not fully understanding what she meant by “this,” but she was not listening to some old woman about finishing anything.

  “Then who gon’ do it?”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “You know what I’m talkin’ ’bout. I’m talkin’ ’bout all of it. Walkin’ round thinkin’ you better. Actin’ like you so high and mighty and perfect.”

  Anger swelled in Abby’s chest. “What the hell are you talking about, Shou Shou?”

  “That’s Ms. Shou Shou to you, girl! You watch yo’ respect.”

  Abby was so mad that she’d actually cussed at that old woman.

  “Dark follows him. Always has, Abigail. Always will. But he ran from it to chase the light.”

  What was she talking about? Who?

  “That man of yours, girl! That’s who I’m talkin’ ’bout.”

  “Auntie.” Abby heard Marlowe’s voice in the background. “You’re scaring her.”

  “Good,” she shot back. “Her little ass need to be scared. She chose you, Abigail. Picked you out of everybody to help lead him back to his light. And you will not abandon her,” she said, her voice cracking. “Because she’s tired, and he’s losing his way.”

  A chill rushed over Abby’s naked body. “You mean Ida Green and Julian?”

  “They connected.”

  Oh, this was crazy. Abby’s whole world had crumbled around her, and this old lady was fixated on ghosts that had nothing to do with Abby.

  “I know that you don’t understand, Abigail,” Ms. Shou said, softening her tone. “Not yet you don’t. But you will.”

  Without realizing it, Abby slowly began to sink until she knelt on the floor. “I need to go. You don’t know…”

  “I know some things, sweet girl. I can’t tell you how, because I don’t understand it. But your pain pierced my heart, Abigail. Your sorrow brings tears to my eyes. He is not who you think he is. Sometimes, he worse. Sometimes, he better. But he is true.”

  Jordan. She was talking about Jordan. Or Julian? Abby was so confused.

  “You don’t understand,” Shou said sympathetically.

  Abby shook her head. “No,” she whispered softly.

  “But you will. Finish this, Abigail.”

  Abby trembled. “I’m afraid, Ms. Shou.”

  “With good reason. Be of good courage, Abby. He requires it. Be brave. You’ll need to be.”

  Abby was numb, inside and out.

  “Abby?” Marlowe said over the phone.

  Abby swallowed. “Hey, Marlowe.”

  “Between the devil and the deep blue sea,” she murmured. “I’ve been there, honey. Sometimes, I’m still there. But trust your heart this time and not your head.”

  They had no idea what they were asking her to do. Abby’s good sense told her to get the hell up, get dressed, run out of that house, and never look back. And never, ever speak to Jordan Gatewood again. If she wanted to save herself, that’s what she had to do.

  Abby sighed. “I’m cold, Marlowe. I’m sitting naked on my living room floor, and I need to get some clothes on.”

  Marlowe laughed. “I’m not going to ask you why you’re sitting naked on your living room floor, but you go and get dressed, Abby.”

  “What happens if I don’t finish this?” Abby asked.

  Marlowe was silent for several beats before responding. “Well, then, I guess you go on as you always have, Abby.” She signed. “But do you really want to?”

  Wasn’t that what she wanted? That was all she wanted.

  “And Ida and Julian?”

  Marlowe was silent for a moment. “I get the feeling that she won’t wait forever. Or that he’ll lose his way. You and Jordan are beacons. If the two of you find your way, I think they were hoping that they’d find theirs.”

  Tears streamed down Abby’s cheeks. Was she crying for her and Jordan or Ida and Julian? Both? “I need to go and get some clothes on, Marlowe.” She stood up. “I’ll call you back.”

  “Soon, Abby. Okay?”

  Abby hung up without saying good-bye.

  None of this made any sense. It was like the whole world was going crazy all of a sudden, and there was nothing she could do to stop it. And somehow, she’d gotten swept up into all this and desperately wanted her life to get back to normal.

  Whatever Ida Green and Julian Gatewood failed to reconcile before they died was their problem and not hers. Ms. Shou and Marlowe could believe what they wanted, but Abby chose to believe that she was still in charge of her own life, and nothing or no one was going to take that from her.

  * * *

  Ten minutes later, she sat in her car in the driveway, staring at her house. Living in this place had certainly proven to have been a wild ride for someone like Abby, who had always walked a very straight and narrow path of her own creation. Daring to believe in ghosts had always been the aspect of her personality that didn’t quite fit the mold she’d created for herself. It had order. It lacked chaos. And it was safe.

  Magic was real. And after moving here, she’d allowed herself the privilege of getting caught up in it. Maybe that’s why she fell so easily and so hard for Jordan, because he was absolutely make-believe, a fantasy that couldn’t possibly be real. Today, he’d revealed things about himself that she’d rather he had just kept secret. Now that she knew them, though, Abby would never be able to forget them, and she’d never be able to separate him from them. And for some reason, that mattered.

  The Troubles

  JORDAN AND HIS ASSISTANT, Phyl, and his small army of engineers were on his private jet, a $42 million Bombardier Global 8000, headed to Washington, D.C. This was to be the first meeting between his team and government officials for the rocket engine and fuel initiative scope of work for a more detailed discussion on Jordan’s plan of action and the expectations of the feds.

  “Are you all right, boss?” Phyl, sitting across from him, asked.

  Jordan had been staring out the window for the last half hour. He looked at her. “Yes. Why?”

  The striking, tall redhead peered back at him with her emerald-green eyes. “Have you had a chance to look over that report I sent to you a few weeks ago?”

  “Yes. Yes, I did.”

  “Was it helpful?”

  Jordan shrugged. He’d asked Phyl to pull Robin’s background investigation report done for all new hires at Gatewood Industries. Jordan hadn’t hired her directly, so he’d never seen it, but in reviewing it, there was nothing about her background that raised any red flags.

  “Nothing pertinent.”

  It had been a week since he’d seen Abby, confessed to Abby. Jordan had resigned himself to the fact that the damage to their relationship was more than likely irreparable. The truth about Lonnie and Claire was more than he’d ever wanted her to know about his past. Jordan was not the man of Abby’s dre
ams. He’d wanted to be, but he’d trespassed on too many lives to be that gleaming hero in her eyes.

  “If you told me exactly what it is you’re looking for,” Phyl continued, “maybe I could target my search to something more specific.”

  Phyl’s tone and expression offered the suggestion that she suspected something but didn’t feel at liberty to fully state her suspicions. She’d only been working for him for a year, but in that time, Phyl had proven to be efficient and trustworthy with the day-to-day issues. But this was much more personal.

  “I’m looking for leverage,” he stated simply. “Things aren’t as they seem between Ms. Sinclair and me,” he admitted. “But it’s difficult for me to move on.”

  Jordan would not go into detail with Phyl. And he could see from the look on her face that it wasn’t necessary. He may very well have lost Abby in all of this, but that didn’t mean that Jordan had to sell his whole soul.

  Phyl nodded. “Got it,” Phyl said confidently. “I’ll see what I can find.”

  * * *

  Jordan was an icon and Phyl had become his biggest fan. He’d have thought that she was silly if she’d ever told him that, but it was true. Phyl marveled at the reverence he got just by walking into a room. He was never much of a conversationalist, but the respect that he had for Phyl played out in unexpected ways, subtle but sincere.

  The two of them had learned to communicate without even speaking. She knew when he was having a bad day, or when she needed to keep the sarcasm to a minimum. And she understood that even though he might not have laughed at her jokes, it didn’t mean that he didn’t find them funny. Phyl was great at reading people, and from the beginning, she had him pegged. He was no nonsense, mysterious, and private but also genuine. And he trusted her. Phyl had made it a point never to let him down. The two of them had chemistry, he’d told her once. Of course being Jordan, he never elaborated on what he’d meant by that, and being Phyl, she didn’t ask him to. It was a compliment, and she took it for what it was worth.

  Perfect people didn’t exist and perfect Robin Sinclair had always given Phyl the willies. On the surface, the woman was flawless. Not only was she one of the most gorgeous to grace God’s green earth, but she had lived an exemplary life for every one of her forty years. Robin had practically grown up a princess. She’d had nannies and housekeepers, attended the best private schools. Daddy was the CEO of a pharmaceutical company before he retired, ten years ago. Mommy was a socialite and philanthropist who donated and helped raise money for all the downtrodden in Robin’s hometown of Seattle. Ms. Sinclair was valedictorian and prom queen at her high school, then went off to Stanford to become the lawyer extraordinaire that she was today.

  Phyl couldn’t put her finger on it, but there was something not quite kosher with this woman. It could’ve been the way that she stalked Jordan. If she couldn’t get him to take her call or respond to her text, she’d hit up Phyl to find out where he was. She had it bad for him, which Phyl could understand. If Phyl wasn’t a lesbian, she’d probably have it bad for him, too. As exceptional as Ms. Sinclair seemed on the surface, Phyl had seen that crack in her facade when Robin had invited Phyl for drinks so that she could get the 411 on why Jordan had been missing in action.

  She was a natural problem solver. In fact, Phyl had been considering joining the police academy and studying biochemistry in college just so that she could eventually become a forensics specialist, but she decided against it when she realized that real-life CSI detectives wore uniforms and didn’t dress as cute as the actors on the television show.

  She’d freelanced as a personal assistant for a few years when she got a call from a headhunter looking for someone to fill a position working for a CEO at an oil and gas company in Dallas. Phyl lived in Denver at the time. She interviewed over the phone with Jordan’s office assistant, Jennifer, and the next thing she knew, she was being flown to Dallas to speak with Mr. Gatewood himself. She walked away from that interview feeling like she’d made a complete and utter fool of herself. A few days later, she got the call that he wanted to hire her.

  * * *

  “Thanks for agreeing to meet with me,” Phyl said to the woman sitting down across from her at the table in the coffee shop. “I know it was short notice, but I’m only going to be town for a few days.”

  The polished woman smiled politely. “When you mentioned Robin’s name, I had to admit that I was curious.”

  Blaine Stevens had actually worked with Robin during her short stint as a criminal attorney in Jersey. She was teaching federal criminal rights law at Howard University and had been for the last seven years. A black woman with a very stylish and enviable pixie cut, large-framed fashionable glasses, full lips with the perfect shade of red lipstick, she was very attractive. Phyl’s type? A little too conservative for Phyl, but cute.

  “How do you know Robin?” Blaine asked casually.

  “We work for the same corporation,” Phyl broadly offered.

  In reality, Phyl didn’t work directly for Gatewood Industries. She worked independently for Jordan.

  “Gatewood Industries in Texas,” Phyl continued.

  “She’s a corporate attorney now?” Blaine asked.

  “Yes.”

  “Interesting,” Blaine said introspectively.

  “Why is that?” Phyl probed.

  Blaine was pensive in her demeanor. “She never showed any interest in the corporate world. That’s all.”

  Phyl was going to have to tread carefully with this one. Blaine was here because she was curious, not necessarily because she wanted to give up any potentially damaging information about Robin Sinclair.

  “What is it that you want to know about Robin that you can’t ask her directly?”

  Lawyers. They had a way of asking questions that left the door open for self-incrimination. Phyl had thought about becoming one until she realized how much reading and writing was involved. The thought of all those words gave her a headache.

  “What can you tell me about the Langston Riley case?”

  Blaine’s expression changed. She tensed for a moment and then took a deep breath to try to calm whatever alarm inside her Phyl’s question had set off.

  “I haven’t heard that name in years,” she said pensively.

  The trick to getting people to give you the information you needed was to get them to trust you, or to make them think that you knew something about them that they didn’t want anybody to know. It was an age-old tactic used in every investigative television show that Phyl had ever watched and studied. Shit. Who said that television wasn’t educational?

  “The two of you worked that case together. A criminal case,” Phyl added. “It was the only one that either of you lost.”

  Blaine smiled ever so slightly. Phyl had hoped that the woman had been out of the courtroom for far so long that she’d forgotten how to play this game.

  “That was almost ten years ago,” Blaine said. “It was the biggest case either of us had ever worked on.”

  “Mr. Riley was your client,” Phyl said earnestly.

  The woman paused. “We both defended him,” she reluctantly admitted.

  “Two defense attorneys. That’s impressive. Why two?”

  Blaine’s lips tightened. “What exactly do you want to know?”

  Langston Riley was nobody special. He ran a small distribution company in Newark and was indicted and stood trial for trafficking heroin.

  “First of all, why’d he need two attorneys? I mean, how could he afford that?”

  The woman turned her head slightly to the side. “Tell me again what this is about?”

  “It’s about Robin,” Phyl said quickly.

  Blaine put down her cup of tea and slipped the strap of her purse over her shoulder. “Then you should talk to her about it directly.”

  “The two of you together couldn’t get him off, even after it was later implied that it was his business partner, Clark Rollins, who may have had personal connections with known drug dea
lers.”

  That stopped her ass from leaving. Blaine slowly sat back down, staring awed at Phyl.

  “Both of you graduated from Stanford Law. You’d never lost a case before him or after. The evidence against this man was circumstantial at best. How could he have possibly been found guilty?”

  It wasn’t as if Phyl had actually read trial transcripts. She’d pretty much just done some Internet searches and managed to find a few news articles on the trial. Basically, she was bullshitting most of what this woman thought that Phyl knew. It was all in the attitude. Phyl had mastered the art of looking and sounding like she knew exactly what the hell she was talking about when in fact, she might have only had 50 percent of the story. Almost immediately, she knew that she must’ve hit a major nerve, because prim-and-proper, tight-ass Blaine Stevens’s eyes suddenly glazed over.

  Blaine stared at her with a smirk on her lips. “You watch a lot of law shows on television?”

  Phyl felt her face flush red. “Why would you say that?”

  “You remind me of the DA on Law & Order. I watch a lot of law shows.”

  Phyl reluctantly shrugged. “Well, yeah.”

  The woman’s expression turned serious. “Tell me what it is you think happened with that case?”

  Phyl had no idea what to think. She was following a lead. Robin Sinclair had been a criminal lawyer since graduating law school and this was the only case she had ever lost. Phyl had found it curious that a defendant who barely got any coverage at all, needed two exceptional lawyers to defend him, and yet, they still lost the case.