by Pamela Yaye
“Sharpshooter, knock it off. This is serious.”
Sobering, he adopted a serious, no-nonsense tone of voice. “Okay, chill, don’t get your tighty-whities in a bunch. Text me the necessary information, and I’ll get right on it.”
Line two lit up, signaling he had another call, but Markos ignored it. This was important, and he didn’t have time to waste. “What do you need?”
“The usual. Her birthdate, home address and social insurance number if you have it.”
“I don’t. All I know is her name.”
Immanuel scoffed, ribbing him good-naturedly. “And you’ve been dating for how long?”
Markos thought hard, trying to remember everything Tatiyana had told him about herself in Tampa, and snapped his fingers. “Her full name is Tatiyana Washington, and she’s a twenty-seven-year-old executive secretary for Pinnacle Microsystems. Or, at least that’s what she told me. I don’t know what to believe anymore.”
“Damn, bro, what happened? You guys were all over each other in Tampa...”
I know. Don’t remind me. My ego’s taken enough of a beating today. Markos coughed to clear the lump in his throat, then spoke in a confident voice, one that masked his profound disappointment. “Nothing. I’m good. Life couldn’t be better.”
“You’re lying. Something’s wrong. I can tell. What is it?”
Markos scooped his stress ball off the desk and squeezed it so hard his hands turned bone white. He wanted to open up to Immanuel, but he couldn’t risk someone in the office overhearing their conversation. “How long will the background check take?”
“A couple days,” he said.
“I need it in by the end of the day, bro. Make it happen.”
“I’m on it. I’ll see what I can do.”
“Thanks, Immanuel. You’re a lifesaver.”
“No worries, man. Hang tight. I’ll call you tonight with an update.”
Markos dropped the phone in the cradle. To become partner, he’d taken his father’s advice and revitalized his image. He’d pretended to be a player, dating a different woman every week, joined his colleagues for drinks during happy hour instead of hanging out with his golf buddies, and attended Hollywood parties and events, but it was all for show. A facade. His brothers teased him for being a softie, for wearing his heart on his sleeve, but he’d rather have one special woman in his life than twenty. Markos wanted what his cousins, Nicco and Rafael had—love, stability and support. They had wives, children, a future, and for some insane reason, he’d actually thought Tatiyana could be the one.
Sadness pierced his heart, but he pushed his feelings aside, refusing to think about her or their romantic weekend in Tampa. She’d used him, played him for a fool, and he’d never forgive her. Seething with anger, he picked up his coffee mug and hurled it across the room.
Sweating profusely, he blew out a breath and plucked at his navy-blue dress shirt. Markos faced the window, replaying his conversation with Tatiyana in his mind. How could this happen? How could she do this to him? Didn’t she know he had feelings for her? Markos thought they had a connection, something special, a strong bond, but he’d been kidding himself. It didn’t matter. This wasn’t over. He was going to get even, discover everything there was to know about her and use it to his advantage, and by the time he was done with Tatiyana, she’d be begging for mercy.
Chapter 11
Markos strode into his darkened media room, clutching a bottle of Appleton rum, and flopped down on his favorite armchair. To keep his mind off his troubles, he turned on the eighty-inch TV and jacked up the volume. ESPN was showing soccer highlights, but Markos didn’t care who’d won the European championships. He’d had the day from hell, one problem after another since Tatiyana’s unexpected visit that morning, and he couldn’t stomach any more bad news.
Flipping channels, he decided on the local news and dropped the remote on the side table. Markos took a swig from the bottle, savoring the taste of his drink as it hit the back of his throat. Normally, he didn’t drink alcohol on workdays, but he needed a pick-me-up, something to help him relax after a long, stressful day at the office, and Jamaican rum always did the trick.
He pressed the On button on his chair, which started to vibrate, relieving the aches and pains in his joints. Heat flooded his body, relaxing him, and Markos closed his eyes. His thoughts returned to that afternoon. Court had been a disaster. A living nightmare. He couldn’t concentrate, had spilled coffee on his documents and had snapped at Izzy twice. To his surprise, his billionaire client was pleased with his performance, even praising him for a job well done after his blistering cross-examination of the CEO’s estranged wife. Pissed at Tatiyana, he’d taken his anger out on the mother of five and cringed every time he remembered their heated exchange in court. He owed her an apology, but since he didn’t want to compromise his case, he’d call his favorite florist shop tomorrow and send her an anonymous floral arrangement. Problem solved.
Markos stared at his iPhone, sitting in the cup holder, willing it to ring. It was eight o’clock, but Immanuel still hadn’t called him with an update. What was up with that? Didn’t his brother realize how important this was to him? Didn’t he care? Or was he too busy romancing his wife to help? Tatiyana’s warning rang in his thoughts, piercing his eardrums.
“Fine, suit yourself, but don’t say I didn’t warn you when my sister goes public with her story, and the paparazzi camp outside your office, hounding you day and night.”
What am I going to do? Should I call her bluff and hope things blow over, or talk to Mayor Glover? Neither option appealed to him. He’d rather fight a Siberian tiger than grill his friend about his sex life. For the second time in minutes, his gaze landed on his cell phone. Markos needed to talk to someone and considered calling his grandfather in Venice. Pride prevented him from dialing the number. They didn’t talk often, only a few times a year, and Markos didn’t want to burden his grandfather with his problems. He had enough on his plate. Because of his poor health, his grandfather hadn’t been to the office in months, and spent most of his days in bed at his villa. Tomorrow, he’d call Demetri. His cousin would know what to do. Over the course of his twelve-year career, the baseball legend had experienced it all—deception, betrayal and blackmail—and if anyone could give him sound advice, it was his superstar cousin from Chicago.
“In other news, Mayor Glover arrived in Tokyo today for the Asian Business Summit, and caused a frenzy at Narita International Airport when he took a picture with a group of geishas,” the news anchor reported. “The mayor’s critics say he should be ashamed of himself for socializing with glorified prostitutes, but Mayor Glover defended his actions, saying...”
Listening to the news report, Markos considered his conversation weeks earlier with Lena and Jantel Washington, dissecting every aspect of their ten-minute meeting. The frail, twentysomething woman had spoken in a small, meek voice, as if she were afraid of her own shadow, but Markos didn’t believe her story. Knew in his gut she was lying. It was an act. Had to be. He knew Mayor Glover well, knew he was madly in love with his then fiancée. No way she’d been a guest at the Mayor’s bachelor party, let alone slept with her. Unless...
Markos bolted upright in his chair, spilling rum onto the carpet. Was Jantel an exotic dancer? Had she been paid to perform at the mayor’s party? Now, everything made sense. How Jantel knew about the location, the layout of the Bel Air mansion and the cell phone ban. The bachelor party, an upscale event planned by the mayor’s chief of staff, was an exclusive, invite-only party held at the mayor’s private residence. Dozens of male celebrities had attended the event, and the only women at the party were strippers.
Markos took a swig of rum, then another. His theory was crazy, but the more he thought about it the more the pieces of the puzzles fit. Interestingly enough, Jantel never told him she was a stripper. Not that it mattered. Sh
e was lying, trying to ruin the mayor’s reputation, but Markos wasn’t going to let it happen.
At forty-three, Kassem Glover was the suave and charming African-American mayor of Los Angeles, and he had superstar appeal. The UCLA graduate had won voters over by being open and honest about his political agenda, and won the election by a landslide. Maroon 5 had performed at the mayor’s inauguration, and there were so many celebrities in attendance Markos thought he was at the Oscars. Mayor Glover spoke in a calm, personable way that voters found endearing, and had boosted the struggling economy by pouring money into city projects, offering tax breaks to business owners and strengthening connections to global firms. The mayor had promised to back him during the next election in two years’ time, and Markos wasn’t going to let Jantel Washington—or anyone else—ruin his chances of being the next mayor of Los Angeles.
The lights came on, blinding him, and Markos squinted.
“I hope you’re not in here drowning your sorrows in Jack and Coke.”
Speechless, his mouth agape, Markos stared at his younger brothers in disbelief.
“Damn, bro, it’s worse than we thought. He’s drinking Jamaican rum.” Dante ripped the bottle out of Markos’s hands. “Trust me, you’ll thank me in the morning.”
“What are you guys doing here?”
“Sharpshooter called, told me about the bizarre conversation you had with him this morning, and I told him to get down here pronto, because it’s obvious you need us.”
“Dante picked me up from the airport, and here we are. Surprised?” Immanuel asked.
“But you weren’t due in LA until next week.”
“Nothing matters more to me than family. You know that,” he said, clapping Markos on the back. “I wasn’t going to leave my favorite brother hanging.”
Dante gave Immanuel a shot in the arm, but he spoke in an amused voice. “Hey! What’s up with that? In the car you said I was your favorite!”
The men chuckled, their voices carrying around the room, filling it with cheer.
“Did you do the background check on Tatiyana? Find anything useful?”
“Dinner first, then business.” Immanuel rubbed his stomach. “I’m starving. All I had on the plane was a turkey sandwich, and now my stomach’s growling. Should we eat in, or head out?”
Markos wasn’t hungry, had lost his appetite the moment Tatiyana told him about her troublesome sister, but he turned off the TV and rose from his chair. Glad for the company, he headed for the kitchen with his brothers in tow. Minutes later, they were seated around the table, eating the food his personal chef had prepared for him that evening. Over prime rib, the men talked about business, sports and the Rashawn Bishop Charity Golf Tournament in Tampa.
“I’m sorry I missed it, but I couldn’t leave Jordana behind. Her parents were in town for the weekend, and I wanted to spend time with them.”
“How is Jordana doing?” Markos picked up the gravy boat and poured the thick brown liquid over his food, drenching everything on his plate. “I’m surprised you’re not still joined at the hip. She’s become a regular fixture in your life ever since your fake wedding at city hall, and it’s nice to see. Jordana’s good people.”
Love shone in Dante’s eyes, brightening his face. “I found the girl of my dreams, and I couldn’t be happier,” he confessed. “When you find a woman who sticks by you during hard times you hold on to her, and that’s what I’m going to do.”
“What’s going on with you and Tatiyana?” Immanuel picked up his beer bottle. “Why are you checking up on her? Did something happen?”
Markos felt ashamed, stupid for being duped by the twenty-seven-year-old beauty, but he confided in his brothers about his troubles. He told them about meeting Tatiyana on the flight, their romantic weekend in Tampa and their showdown that morning in his office. “I feel like a jackass. I’m an attorney. I should have seen this coming.”
Frowning, Dante shook his head. “You’re a lawyer, Markos. Not a psychic. How were you supposed to know her true identity?”
“I can’t believe you met Tatiyana on your way to Tampa. You certainly fooled me. Hell, you fooled us all. You acted like she was ‘the one,’ so we all welcomed her with open arms.”
“No, I didn’t. Immanuel, you’re exaggerating.”
“Yes, you did. You couldn’t keep your hands off her, and you introduced her to everyone at the tournament as your lady,” he argued, pointing his fork at Markos’s face. “You ditched us for Tatiyana.”
“I wasn’t the problem,” he shot back. “If you guys would’ve left your wives at home like you were supposed to, I never would have hooked up with Tatiyana.”
“Bullshit! Don’t pin this on us. You wanted her the moment you saw her.”
Markos wanted to argue, but he didn’t. It was true. The first time he saw Tatiyana he knew he had to have her. And he had. All over his executive suite. In every imaginable position.
“Hooking up with Tatiyana had nothing to do with the guys, so don’t blame us because you got bamboozled. I told you she was out of your league, but you wouldn’t listen.”
“I don’t need a lecture. I need your help.”
“Don’t sweat it,” Dante said with a sympathetic smile, his tone filled with understanding. “Quit beating yourself up. We’ve all been there—”
Immanuel scoffed. “No, we haven’t.”
“Yes, we have. Nicco’s best friend stole from Dolce Vita and set him up to take the fall, you caught Emilio in bed with your ex-fiancée, and Lourdes left me for my business rival.”
“I guess you’re right,” Immanuel said with a nod. “We’ve all been burned by love.”
“Markos, all you can do is learn from this experience and move on. What doesn’t kill you can only make you stronger, right?”
Immanuel groaned. “I hate your pep talks. Do you have to quote pop songs?”
Chuckling, the men bumped elbows and beer bottles. Joking around with his brothers had improved Markos’s mood. Still, he wanted to know if Immanuel had uncovered anything incriminating about Tatiyana. Excitement shot through his veins at the thought of getting even with her. And he would, even if he had to be sneaky. No one messed with him and got away with it—not even a woman he had strong feelings for. Images of her filled his thoughts, but he struck them from his mind. Tatiyana was the enemy, and they’d never be lovers again.
“What did the background check reveal?” He spoke in a calm voice, but he was dying to know the truth, could feel his heart racing and his palms sweating. “Is she a criminal? Does she have a history of scheming people? Are there other victims?”
“No, quite the contrary. Tatiyana has a terrific credit score, an impeccable résumé and a long history of volunteering at charity organizations. She’s never gotten as much as a parking ticket, or paid her cable bill late. By all accounts she’s a model citizen.”
“Right!” Markos barked a laugh. “Model citizen my ass.”
“You don’t believe me? Here, I’ll show you.”
Putting down his fork, he reached into his jacket pocket, which was draped behind his chair, and took out a piece of paper. “Here. Read it for yourself,” he said, handing it over.
Markos scanned the document, committing the information about Tatiyana to memory—her birthdate, her address, her former employers. His eyes narrowed, zeroing in on an interesting fact his brother had failed to mention. “Tatiyana was fired from Pinnacle three weeks ago?”
“Yeah, I called and spoke to someone in their HR department this evening to get the inside scoop.” Immanuel forked a baby potato into his mouth and chewed slowly, as if he was savoring every bite. “Apparently, they eliminated her position.”
“Bullshit. Tatiyana was an executive secretary. They’re always in high demand.”
Immanuel nodded. “I agree. It’s o
bvious they wanted her gone, but why?”
Leaning back in his chair, Markos stroked his jaw, considering his brother’s question. His interest piqued, he decided to call his accountant friend at Pinnacle Microsystems for answers. He didn’t know what to do with the information, how to use it to his advantage, but knowing Tatiyana’s secrets made him feel confident, as if he was finally back in control, and he relished the feeling.
“I’m going to play devil’s advocate for a minute.”
Cranking his head to the left, his hands gripping the neck of his beer bottle, Markos wore a disgusted look. “Don’t,” he warned. “I don’t want to hear it, Dante. I’m not in the mood.”
“Hear me out. I know you and the mayor are good friends, and you think highly of him, but a lot of famous people feel they’re above the law. They think the rules don’t apply to them, and they’ll do everything in their power to destroy the truth and their accusers.”
“Since the mayor took office it’s been one problem after another,” he explained, frustrated that his brothers were giving him grief. “This isn’t the first woman who’s made accusations, or claimed to have had an affair with him, and it probably won’t be the last.”
“I hear you, bro, but that doesn’t mean Tatiyana and her sister are lying. I don’t know her well, but my impression is that she’s someone who loves and supports her family. Just like you.”
Markos scoffed. His brothers knew about his disastrous dating history, about all the times he’d met a woman only to discover she was more interested in his wealth and status, than getting to know him as a person. And Tatiyana was no different. “Now that you guys are happily married, and living the American dream, you forgot what it’s like to be a bachelor,” he argued. “A lot of women are scheming and conniving—”
“And a lot of women aren’t. At the very least, look into her sister’s case, and see if her story has merit.”
“You think I should investigate her claims? Why? She’s screwing me over!”
“No, she’s supporting her sister. You, of all people, should understand that.” Dante wore a knowing smile. “You spoil Francesca silly, and she can do no wrong in your eyes.”