Best Kept Secrets

by Shelly Ellis

  “I know, but I remember you telling me that you were in a shitty marriage. I just didn’t realize how . . . well, how bad it was.”

  He turned to her. There was sympathy in her big brown eyes.

  “I remember what it’s like . . . to be in a shitty marriage, I mean,” she continued. “Hell, I still am! I’m . . . I’m sorry to see things ended up the same way for you. I’d hoped you would be happier than . . . than I was.”

  Evan shrugged. “Yeah, well, I had hoped the same, but shit happens. That’s the way the cookie crumbles, right?”

  He chuckled, but she didn’t join him in his laughter. Instead, she placed a warm hand on his shoulder. “It still sucks, Ev,” she said softly.

  He swore he could feel the warmth of her fingers through his polo shirt. His eyes drifted to her mouth, then settled on the swell of cleavage peaking over the top of her satin blouse and suddenly it felt a lot hotter inside the car.

  “We both got the short end of the stick,” she said, drawing his attention away from her cleavage and back to her face.

  Evan remembered doing this skipping eye dance a lot when they were younger. How many times had he reminded himself not to stare at her? He had one vivid memory of Leila climbing out of the Murdoch family’s Olympic swimming pool in her bathing suit when they were thirteen. That old blue suit had been baggy one year, but a year later, it barely contained her pubescent curves, which seemed to have sprouted overnight. It took all of Evan’s willpower not to ogle her as she splashed around his pool and then stretched on one of their club chairs next to him.

  He had dreamed about her that night—her in that blue bathing suit. He remembered it being one of the first wet dreams he ever had.

  If Leila knew all the fantasies he had had about her when they were kids, it would have made her blush. If she knew the fantasies that were starting to float through his mind now as he looked at her, she’d be blushing all over again.

  “Marriage can be a pain in the ass. Kind of makes you envy the singles out there,” Evan said, trying to drag his thoughts out of the gutter. He returned his attention to the road. “Guys like Terry and Dante have it made . . . no commitment. . . jumping from woman to woman. They—”

  “Do you really think Dante’s like that? He seemed a lot more sincere to me.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “You know . . . as in, he didn’t seem like a player. He seemed very sincere, even kind of sweet. I thought he was very . . . well, charming.”

  Evan’s hands tightened around the steering wheel. “Charming, huh?” Evan asked, trying his best to sound relaxed.

  He reminded himself for the umpteenth time that he was Leila’s boss, that he was married, and that he had absolutely no right to be angry. “I guess you’ve got a point there. He’s a good guy all around. I’m surprised at how quickly he’s bonded with everyone in the family.”

  Though, truth be told, Evan always got the nagging feeling that Dante was too nice, that there was no way possible for a man to be that affable twenty-four hours a day. Nothing seemed to faze Dante. He never seemed to get angry, let alone aggravated. Didn’t he ever get pissed? Didn’t he ever have jealousy or resentment surge through his veins, much like what was surging through Evan now?

  “The only reason why you’re questioning him at all is because Leila likes him,” a voice in his head chided.

  Maybe, Evan thought. But it still didn’t change the fact that Dante seemed to have the emotional depth of a puddle.

  “You’ll probably run into Dante at a few more events we have coming up,” Evan said. “I bet he’ll show up to the fundraiser we’re having next month.”

  “I might see him sooner than that,” she whispered cryptically.

  “What do you mean?”

  “Well . . .” She took a deep breath and turned away from the window. She finally turned to him. “Dante asked me out.”

  At that little announcement, Evan’s heart dropped from his chest straight to his shoes. He suddenly whipped the steering wheel, causing the car to almost veer into the right lane. Leila grabbed the dashboard and screamed as he turned the wheel again, narrowly averting disaster. He missed sideswiping a Ford Explorer by mere inches. The driver of the Explorer swerved then blared his horn at Evan before accelerating and driving off.

  “Ev!” Leila shouted in alarm. “What the hell are you doing? Are you trying to kill us?”

  “I’m sorry! I just . . . I thought the car in front of me was braking,” he lied. “I-I didn’t want to rear-end him.”

  She collapsed back into the passenger seat and brought a hand to her chest. “Just be careful, okay? I have no desire to die on the beltway!”

  He nodded and they fell into a strained silence. The soft murmur of the car’s eight-cylinder engine filled the compartment. After a few minutes, he glanced at her again.

  “So Dante asked you out on a date? When did he find the time to do that?”

  She adjusted her seat belt. “Right before I was heading out to meet you. He stopped me in the lobby.”

  Of course Dante had pounced on Leila during the rare minute that she was out of Evan’s sight. That sneaky son of a bitch, Evan thought, then silently corrected himself again.

  She’s not yours, he could hear Terrence repeat in his head. And she never would be.

  “Did you say yes?” he asked, hoping to God that she hadn’t. He held his breath.

  “No, I told him that I had to talk to you first.”

  Evan exhaled with relief. His death grip on the steering wheel finally loosened. At least this time she had afforded him the courtesy of asking for his approval. When she had decided to date Brad almost a decade ago, she hadn’t wanted to listen to anything Evan had to say.

  “I wasn’t sure if it was appropriate,” she explained. “Me going out with Dante, I mean. With you being my boss and Dante being your brother. You get what I’m saying. Right?”

  “Sure, I understand. Absolutely.”

  They fell silent again.

  “Well?” she asked, looking at him expectantly.

  “Well, what, Lee?”

  She pursed her lips. “Would you be okay with me dating him, Evan? I want . . . I really want your blessing on this.”

  Evan swallowed the lump that had lodged in his throat. She wanted his blessing? She wanted his blessing to go on a date with another man, to hold his hand, laugh over dinner, take a moonlight stroll, and then probably end the night with a kiss. Did Leila realize what she was really asking him? He was supposed to put aside all his longing, lust, bitterness, anger, feelings of rejection, and regret and condone her having dinner with his brother. Was she insane?

  “What about your divorce?” he asked, hoping to stall and direct the conversation away from himself. He would do anything he had to do in order to prevent himself from shouting at her, “No, you don’t have my blessing. Hell no!”

  “What about my divorce?”

  “Is it going to look good for you to be dating someone while you’re still going through a divorce? That’s what I mean.”

  “Honestly? Probably not. I wouldn’t have considered going on a date with anyone a week ago, but Brad let it slip to Izzy that he has a new girlfriend.” She shrugged. “I figure what’s good for the goose is good for the gander at this point. If I look bad for dating while I’m still married, so would Brad.”

  Well, shit, Evan thought. Once again, Brad proved himself to be completely useless when needed.

  “So do I have your blessing?”

  “Are you asking me this as your boss or in . . . in some other capacity?”

  He was shamelessly stalling again, but he didn’t care.

  “I’m asking you as Evan Murdoch. I’m asking you as my boss, my friend, and everything else that it entails, Ev.”

  It was on the tip of his tongue to tell her, “Well, if that’s the case, then you should already know my goddamn answer,” but then she took a deep breath, closed her eyes, and said, “I just want to know that y
ou’re okay with it this time around. I don’t want any misunderstanding, no hostility. I mean . . . if you have any misgivings about this or him, please, let me know now. I trust your opinion, Ev.”

  That’s when he knew he couldn’t do it. He couldn’t let his jealousy and selfishness get the better of him. She had been stuck in a miserable marriage for almost a decade. Evan knew what that felt like. If Dante could offer her a distraction, an inkling of happiness, he couldn’t take that prospect away from her.

  “You . . .” He cleared his throat. “You have my blessing.”

  She raised her brows. “Really?”

  “Yeah,” he said, then smirked. “Why do you sound so surprised?”

  “I just . . . I didn’t know if . . .” She quickly shook her head and waved a hand. “Never mind. Thank you, Ev. I really appreciate it!”

  He nodded and ignored the ache he felt spreading across his chest.

  Chapter 16

  DANTE

  “Ladies first,” Dante said while gallantly holding open the door to the restaurant for his date.

  “Why thank you,” Leila murmured then bashfully dipped her head.

  As she stepped in front of him and removed her shawl from around her shoulders, Dante let his eyes travel languidly over the length of her. He resisted the urge to hungrily lick his lips though the desire that flowed through him was strong. On a scale of one to ten, it hovered at about an eight—and had been steadily climbing since their first date a few weeks ago.

  Tonight Leila was wearing a red sundress with spaghetti straps and a belt at the waist that accentuated her womanly curves. He wondered what she would look like with that dress pooled on his bedroom floor and her bent over the side of his mattress, just wearing those red lips and red high heels. He hoped that tonight he would finally get to see her that way. She certainly was drawing this out. After three dates, the most he had gotten was a quick kiss in the car before he dropped her off at her door. Nothing hot and heavy, not even a dick rub through his slacks! Dante didn’t know why Leila was playing so hard to get. She had a seven-year-old, for God’s sake! It wasn’t like she was some virgin. She’d better drop those panties soon or he’d start to get pissed.

  But, until then, Dante was biding his time. After all, he wasn’t dating Leila Hawkins solely to get a piece of ass, though he hoped to get it eventually . . . well, maybe sooner rather than later. He was really dating her because she was yet another step in his grand plan to take his rightful place as the head of the Murdoch family and Murdoch Conglomerated.

  To do that, he needed access and more information about Evan. What better way to get that info and access than through the woman who handled his day-to-day tasks, who served as his go-between? Who else spent more time with Evan Murdoch than Leila, his personal assistant?

  He had tried to explain as much to Charisse—that he had an ulterior motive in dating Leila—but she wouldn’t hear any of it.

  “She’s not even pretty!” Charisse had exclaimed two nights ago while they were in bed together. “And she’s fat.”

  “She’s not fat,” he had said just before swiping his tongue across Charisse’s breast, making her close her eyes and moan just before she opened her eyes again and angrily shoved his head away.

  “Don’t try to distract me!” she ordered peevishly.

  At that, he had chuckled and wrapped an arm around her before roughly tugging her toward him. “I thought distraction was exactly what we were here for.”

  “Honestly, Dante, what is so goddamn special about Leila Hawkins anyway? I don’t get the appeal! Do men have such low standards? First Evan goes after her—then you!”

  That gave Dante pause. He had leaned back on his elbow and peered up at her. “What do you mean ‘first Evan . . . ’? You don’t really think they’re fucking, do you?”

  She’d snorted before taking a sip from her glass. “You don’t keep women like that on the payroll for their office skills. If she isn’t Evan’s whore now, then she soon will be. You can bet on that.” Charisse had given him a cold smile. “So you go on and enjoy Evan’s sloppy seconds!”

  Dante now watched Leila as they walked across the high-end Italian restaurant, wondering if what Charisse had said was true. Leila was so sweet and wholesome, like a black Maria from the Sound of Music. She certainly seemed as chaste as a Benedictine nun. He didn’t think that Evan was fucking her. But at the golf tournament, Dante had definitely picked up territorial vibes from Evan. He wasn’t sure if Evan was protective of her because she was his secretary or if something more was going on there. If Leila was Evan’s side piece, that would explain why she and Dante had yet to get past polite kisses. Maybe she was saving up all her loving for her boss at the end of night.

  Dante didn’t know how he felt about that. He certainly didn’t want any man’s “sloppy seconds,” as Charisse had put it.

  He watched as Leila nodded and whispered her thanks when the waiter pulled out her chair. After they both sat down and were handed their leather-bound menus, Leila leaned across the bistro table.

  “Thank you for bringing me here. I know this place has a wait list so I’ve been dying to eat here for months!”

  “It’s my pleasure! I hope you enjoy it.”

  “I’m sure I will,” she murmured before returning her attention to her menu.

  “So how was work today?” Dante asked, deciding to do some fact-finding.

  Leila glanced up from her menu. “Oh, fine. It was busy, but that’s normal.”

  “Is Evan working you hard?” In more ways than one, he wanted to add, but held back from doing so.

  “Yeah, but I expected as much. It comes with the job.” She laughed and shrugged. “How was your day? Any exciting cases you’re working on?”

  “Not really. Civil law can be pretty boring. Lots of paperwork mostly.” He leaned back in his chair. “I’m sure what you do every day with Evan at Murdoch Conglomerated is a lot more fascinating.”

  “That would require a very liberal interpretation of ‘fascinating.’ Like your job, my job involves lots of paperwork. It also involves plenty of meetings where I sit off to the side, nod my head, and pretend like I have a clue what everyone is talking about.” She pushed aside her menu and gazed at him intently. She reached across the table and held his hand. “But let’s not talk about work. Tell me more about you. Besides the basic details, I don’t know much else. Where’d you grow up? Where’d you go to school? What are you favorite movies . . . your favorite books?”

  Is she fucking serious?

  Dante resisted the urge to roll his eyes. There was nothing he hated more than the boring small talk that came with dating. This was why he kept most of his relationships with women purely sexual. He didn’t give a shit about Leila’s favorite TV shows or the name of her boyfriend back in high school. What he cared about was whether she was good in bed and whether she was sleeping with her boss.

  Luckily, the waiter appeared again to take their orders, saving Dante from the dating ritual he hated so much. When the waiter left, he tried to distract Leila with flattery; he told her how beautiful she was, how much he loved her dress, and how her fragrance was intoxicating. It usually worked when he did this. It certainly worked with Charisse. But Leila wasn’t having any of it.

  “So tell me about your childhood. What was your family like growing up?” she asked as the waiter set a platter of calamari between them.

  “There isn’t much to tell,” he began slowly, carefully weighing his words. “It was just me and my mom.”

  “Same here.”

  “We didn’t have a lot of money. We lived in a small apartment in a bad neighborhood.”

  “Also, same here,” she said with a nod, raising her wineglass to her lips and taking a sip.

  Dante raised an eyebrow. He’d had no idea he and Leila had so much in common. “I didn’t know who my real father was,” he said, feeling more emboldened. “My mom told me he was one of her boyfriends, but I found out the truth much later
.”

  “Now that is where our stories diverge. I knew who my dad was, but he walked out on us when I was nine years old. I heard from him every now and then. But by the time I was twelve, he basically disappeared. After that, I wanted nothing to do with him.”

  “I always . . . always wanted to know who my father was,” he said, reaching for the calamari. He popped a morsel into his mouth. “And when I found it was George Murdoch, I knew I had hit the jackpot.”

  She lowered her wineglass. “Why?”

  “What do you mean, ‘why?’ Because it was George Murdoch—one of the wealthiest black men on the East Coast! I mean . . . I don’t follow business news that closely and even I knew who he was! I was shocked.” He winked. “My mama wasn’t the smartest woman in the world, but she had damn good taste, if I do say so myself.”

  “Wait. So you were excited to find out he was your father because . . . because he had a lot of money?”

  “Yeah, and what’s wrong with that?” This time, Dante did roll his eyes. “Come on, Leila! Don’t give me some speech about how money isn’t important. No one’s really naïve enough to believe that!”

  “Of course money is important. It keeps a roof over your head and puts food in your belly. But it isn’t everything!”

  He laughed coldly. “So I suppose you’re working for Evan for peanuts. He’s hardly paying you anything, right? You don’t need a big salary because money isn’t important.”

  “He pays me enough,” she answered tightly. “Besides, my salary has nothing to do with this conversation.”

  “Or maybe Evan is offering a few perks that can’t be quantified. A rich guy like him—”

  “Why are you so concerned about Evan?” she asked, narrowing her eyes. “You’ve bought him up twice already. You always bring him up during our dates.”

  Dante paused. “I don’t always bring him up.”

  “Yes, you do—obsessively. ‘What’s it like working with Evan? What do you and Evan do all day?’ I mean . . . if you’re so concerned about Evan, maybe he’s the one you should have asked out instead of me.”