by Pamela Yaye
“It’s weird not having my cell phone,” she said quietly, glancing in his direction. “I keep putting my hands in my pocket, expecting it to be there, but it’s not.”
“That’s normal, especially for someone who uses their phone as much as you do.”
“How do you know I use my phone a lot?”
Immanuel searched his brain for a suitable response, came up empty, and said the first thing that came to mind. “Most people do,” he said with a shrug. “Myself included.”
“My family thinks I’m addicted to my cell, especially my mom, but she’s old-school and doesn’t understand the nature of my job. I run my own company, so it’s important to be available for my staff and clients...”
Immanuel didn’t want to miss anything she had to say, so he turned off the radio and gave her his full attention. It was a challenge, with their arms touching and her heady perfume sweetening the air. But he listened closely and filed information away in his mental Rolodex for a later date.
“How long have you had your business?”
Pride filled her eyes and seeped into her tone. “It will be ten years in January.”
“That’s a remarkable feat. Most small businesses don’t survive the first two years, so you’re obviously doing something right.”
“Damn right I am,” she said. “I’m working my ass off!”
And what a nice ass it is.
“Well, if the life coaching business doesn’t work out you can always become a boxer. You have one hell of a right hook.”
Dionne cracked up. It did his heart good to hear her laugh. Talking to her about Pathways Center was obviously the way to go, so he asked questions about her business.
“What’s your secret?” he asked, wanting to hear more about her journey to success. The research he’d done on Dionne revealed that she was also a best-selling author and motivational speaker. She charged five figures for every speaking engagement, and was one of the most sought-after life coaches in the nation. “How have you managed to create a successful life coaching business when so many others have failed?”
“Hard work and perseverance are the keys to my success. I wouldn’t be here today if I’d wavered, even for a second, about my life’s purpose.”
“Do you have plans to expand your business in other markets?”
The smile vanished from her lips. “My clinics in LA and Seattle were supposed to open this past summer, but construction has been delayed indefinitely.”
“That’s ridiculous,” Immanuel said, shifting gears as he switched lanes. “Who’s the builder, and why haven’t you sued them for breach of contract?”
“Because my hands are tied.” Her voice broke, cracked with emotion, but she quickly regained her composure. “This project was in the works long before I filed for divorce, but if I’d known my ex would deliberately sabotage the project, I never would have used his family’s construction company. The project has been on hold for months, and work probably won’t resume until the divorce is finalized.”
“How long have you been separated from your husband?”
“Almost a year. Out of respect for his family, I agreed to keep quiet about the separation, but once I filed for divorce the story hit the newspapers and things turned ugly...”
Immanuel frowned. His thoughts returned to weeks earlier. During an hour-long meeting with Jules Fontaine, the businessman had called his estranged wife a conniving manipulator who used her looks to advance her career. He claimed he’d kicked her out of their Buckhead estate once he’d learned of her infidelity. Immanuel liked having all of the facts and sensed that Dionne was telling the truth. She didn’t bad-mouth her ex or blame him for their failed marriage. He respected her for taking the high road.
“Do you mind stopping at the AT&T store on Town Road?” she asked. “I’m expecting several important calls this afternoon, and I’ll go crazy if I don’t get a new iPhone.”
“I don’t know,” he teased, faking a frown. “Dr. Pelayo ordered me to take you straight home, and I’d hate to get on her bad side.”
“Don’t worry. What she doesn’t know won’t hurt her.”
Immanuel chuckled. “No problem. We can go anywhere you want.”
At the intersection, he turned left and found a parking space in the plaza. They entered the store, and Dionne immediately selected the latest iPhone model, and then approached the cash register.
“With the extended warranty, that comes to $649,” the clerk said.
Dionne nodded. “Charge everything to the account on file. I’ll be keeping the same plan.”
“In order to do that I’ll need to see two pieces of ID.”
“I don’t have any ID. My purse was stolen last night.” Dionne peered over the clerk’s shoulder and motioned to the door behind him. “Is your manager around? I spoke to her earlier, and she assured me getting a new cell phone would not be a problem.”
“I’m sorry, but she’s gone for the day.”
“Call her. I explained my situation to her, and she was—”
“I can’t.” He shrugged his bony shoulders. “Come back tomorrow with the proper ID.”
Dionne spoke through pursed lips. “Go. Call. Your. Store. Manager. Now.”
“Ma’am, you’re being rude. I’m going to have to ask you to leave.”
Hoping to defuse the situation, Immanuel opened his leather wallet, took out his Visa Black Card and handed it to the clerk. “That won’t be necessary.” He was ticked off that the guy was giving Dionne a hard time, but he didn’t let his frustration show. “Charge everything to my account.”
“No,” Dionne argued, adamantly shaking her head. “I don’t want you to pay. All he has to do is call his manager. She’ll straighten everything out.”
“Don’t worry, Dionne. I got this.” Winking, he patted her good-naturedly on the hips. That earned him a smile. His chest inflated with pride, filled to the brim. “Hang tight. We’ll be out of here before you know it, and you can go home and get some rest. I promise.”
To reduce the tension, Immanuel chatted with the clerk about the weather and sports. The man was a huge baseball fan and screeched like a parrot when Immanuel told him Demetri Morretti, the star slugger of the Chicago Royals, was his cousin.
“The Royals will be in town at the end of the month,” the clerk said excitedly, rubbing his hands together. “I can’t wait to see Demetri play. I hope the game goes extra innings.”
Immanuel chuckled. “Thanks for everything, man. You’ve been really helpful.”
“Helpful my ass,” Dionne grumbled, snatching the plastic bag off the counter.
“Thanks for choosing AT&T,” the clerk said. “Have a nice day.”
Outside, Immanuel opened the passenger door and stepped aside. But Dionne didn’t get in. “You’re too nice,” she said, shielding her eyes from the sun. “This isn’t Venice, Immanuel. This is Georgia. You better toughen up, or people will walk all over you.”
“My grandmother, Gianna, says you can catch more flies with honey than vinegar, and I think she’s right. So the next time someone’s being a jerk, kill them with kindness. Trust me, it works every time.”
“Maybe you’re right.”
To make her laugh, he joked, “I’m a Morretti. I’m always right.”
Her smile was fake, forced, and seeing the wounded expression on her face saddened him. He’d said too much. She’d been through a lot in the past twenty-four hours, and the last thing Dionne needed was someone coming down on her. But before he could apologize, she spoke.
“I’m sorry if I embarrassed you inside the store. I didn’t mean to. Because I’m petite, people usually don’t take me seriously, so I have to raise my voice to get their attention.”
“I understand, but don’t stoop to their level. Let them rise to yours.�
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“Great advice. I’m going to remember that.”
“Are you ready?”
Dionne nodded, but she didn’t move. Immanuel didn’t either. Couldn’t. Felt as if his feet were glued to the ground. Their eyes met, held for a beat. Lust exploded inside his body, threatening to consume him. Their connection was undeniable, but it was nothing he’d ever act upon. He’d been burned by love before, betrayed by a woman he’d thought was his soul mate, and he wasn’t going down that road again. Not even for a dime like Dionne. He had to remember that no good could ever come of their being lovers. That’s easier said than done, he thought.
Dionne stared at him, her gaze strong and intense. His hands itched to touch her, to caress every slope and curve on her delicious body. His pulse quickened, and his thoughts ran wild. What would she do if I kissed her? Would she push me away or kiss me back? Does she feel the chemistry between us, or is it a figment of my imagination?
There’s only one way to find out, whispered his inner voice.
Chapter 5
“Immanuel, are you coming?”
Immanuel blinked, just then noticing Dionne sitting in the passenger seat of his car wearing a bemused expression on her face. He inwardly winced. Damn. How long had he been staring off into space? He was out of sorts, and his pretty companion was the reason why. Maybe Malcolm was right. Maybe he should start dating again. Get out there and see what the Peach State had to offer. He missed having someone special in his life, and he had no chance in hell of ever hooking up with Dionne.
Immanuel got behind the wheel of his car, started the engine and exited the parking lot. He was content driving and watching her on the sly.
“Why did you relocate to Atlanta?” Dionne said, interrupting his thoughts.
“I needed a change of scenery.” He’d been asked the question dozens of times and gave everyone the same answer, but this was the first time he felt guilty about lying. “I grew up in Italy, but I went to a university out east, so moving here wasn’t much of an adjustment.”
“What do you think of Atlanta so far? Do you like it?”
“So far, so good. It’s a fantastic city. Southern people are incredibly charming, but there’s nothing quite like living in Venice.”
“I agree. I traveled to Venice last year on business, and I didn’t want to come home.”
“I take it you enjoyed your trip,” he teased, wearing an easy smile.
“I loved everything: The food, the atmosphere, the rich architecture and history, strolling along the canals at night. It was breathtaking.”
I know just how you feel, because I’m in complete and total awe of your beauty.
“Did your husband make the trip as well?”
“No.” Sadness flickered across her pretty, delicate features. “The more successful I got, the more problems we had in our marriage. By the time our fifth wedding anniversary rolled around, we were living separate lives. It hurts that he couldn’t support my dreams the way I championed his.”
If you were my woman, I’d support you a hundred percent.
“What do you miss most about Venice?” she asked.
“My family, especially my grandparents. They helped raise me, and I owe everything I am to them. We Skype every day, but it’s not the same thing as being there.”
“Having Emilio nearby in Greensboro must be nice, though.”
If you say so. I’ve never been to his estate, and I have no intention of ever visiting him.
It was a short drive to Brookhaven. Ten minutes after leaving the plaza, Immanuel pulled in front of a brick colonial-style mansion. Lush green magnolia trees surrounded the property, flower beds dotted the landscaped grounds, and the front porch held a swing and bright, comfy chairs. “This is a lot of house for one woman.”
“You sound like my dad. He said I should rent a smaller place, but the bigger the better in my opinion. You only live once, right?”
“That’s one way of looking at it.”
“No, that’s the only way of looking at it. I work hard. After a stressful day at the office I love nothing more than coming home to my big, beautiful mansion. Don’t you?”
“You’re confusing me with my brother. He’s the ostentatious millionaire, not me.”
“Oh, that’s right. You prefer to spend your money on sports cars worth half a million.”
“Who told you that?”
“Lucky guess, but you are driving a McLaren. They’re ridiculously expensive, and I bet this is just one of many luxury cars in your collection.”
“You’re smart and clairvoyant. How fascinating.”
Dionne laughed, and Immanuel did, too.
“My father and grandfather were both championship race car drivers, and I developed a love of exotic cars at a very young age,” he explained. “They’re my guilty pleasure.”
“I’m surprised you’re not a race car driver yourself.”
“I couldn’t cut it, but after several fits and starts I discovered my passion and built a successful business that I’m incredibly proud of.”
Dionne looked impressed and nodded her head in agreement. “Good for you. As long as you’re happy and doing what you love, that’s all that matters.”
Tell that to my father. In his eyes I’m a failure, and nothing I ever do is good enough.
Putting the car in Park, Immanuel surveyed the neighborhood, searched for anything out of the ordinary. Aside from a woman powering up the block with her golden retriever, the streets were empty. Satisfied nothing was amiss, he got out of the car and walked around to the passenger-side door. As Dionne stood, he noticed the pained expression on her face. He could sense her anxiety and wondered if she was reliving the attack in her mind.
“Are you okay?”
Her eyes were sad, but she nodded. “Yes, of course.”
Flowers lined the walkway, perfuming the air with their sweet, fragrant scent.
Dionne moved slowly, as if it required all of her strength, but she flashed a thumbs-up when she caught him staring at her. Immanuel watched her with growing admiration. He’d never seen anyone bounce back so fast after a violent attack, and although she was sore, he knew her spirits were strong. Dionne took her new keys out of her pocket that he had given her at the hospital, but struggled to get the correct one inside the lock.
“Allow me.” Immanuel reached for the key ring, and their fingers touched. It was a warm September day, a balmy eighty degrees, but her skin was ice-cold. She’s scared. Scared because the mugger knows where she lives. Anxious to get Dionne inside, he unlocked the door, pushed it open and disabled the alarm.
The house smelled of cinnamon and vanilla. The decor in the three-story mansion was simple but elegant. Framed photographs, African artwork and glass sculptures decorated the foyer, giving the space a luxurious feel. Hardwood floors, indigo walls and multitiered chandeliers dripping in crystals beautified the main floor, and the arched windows provided natural sunlight.
“It’s good to be home,” she said softly, entering the gourmet kitchen. “I was only in the hospital overnight, but it feels like weeks since I’ve been home.”
“Are you hungry? Do you want me to make you something to eat?”
“In my kitchen?” Dionne laughed, as if it were the funniest thing she’d ever heard. “No thanks. I’m not hungry, just tired. I think I just need a nap.”
“I don’t mind sticking around until you wake up. Dr. Pelayo asked me to keep an eye on you, and I feel bad leaving you here alone.”
“In my house?”
She sounded incredulous, looked it, too. Immanuel realized he was out of line. He wasn’t her husband or family, and he had no right forcing himself on her. “I come from a large Italian family, so taking care of people is in my blood,” he explained, wearing an apologetic smile. “
But I’ll get out of your hair and let you rest.”
“Immanuel, I appreciate your concern, but I’m fine. You’ve done more than enough today, and you should probably go home to your family. It’s almost suppertime—”
“I’m not married, and I have no children. Just a temperamental bulldog who hates me because I’m never home to play with him.”
Laughing, Dionne opened the side drawer and retrieved a pen and leather-bound checkbook. “Wait a minute. I can’t let you leave until I pay you.” She clutched her Montblanc pen in her hand. “How much do I owe you for the clothes and cell phone?”
“Nothing. They’re gifts, and I won’t accept your money.”
“Immanuel, that’s crazy. You spent thousands of dollars on me, and I insist on paying you back.”
“Thankfully, I can afford it, so please put your checkbook away.”
Dionne protested, argued her case, but Immanuel wouldn’t budge. He didn’t want her check, not when he had more money in the bank than he could ever spend. “Italians are generous people who love spoiling their family and friends.” He didn’t want to offend her or come across as an obstinate jerk, so he tried to lighten the mood with a joke. “But you know who I really like to spoil? Strong, courageous women who fight like Jackie Chan!”
Dionne laughed, and the sound tickled his ears. A strange thing happened when their eyes met. His heart raced, and his temperature soared. His gaze zeroed in on her mouth, and the urge to kiss her was so strong, he could almost taste her lips.
“Fine, if you won’t take my money, then I’ll make you a hero’s dinner next Friday as a token of my appreciation.” Her tone brightened. “I’ll make you a delicious three-course meal, and we can spend the evening getting to know each other better. I hate to brag, but my prime rib is to die for, and so is my butternut squash ravioli.”