by Shelly Ellis
She stopped when someone suddenly knocked on the door.
“I’m busy!” Dante yelled, but the door opened anyway.
A tall dark-skinned man stood in the doorway. He wore a red tracksuit jacket with the word TRAINER in white letters stitched across the front. His black sweatpants sat low on his hips.
He grinned and strode into the office like Dante had invited him into the room. “Wassup, man!” He extended his hand to Dante for a shake.
Dante glanced down at the hand, then slowly up at the man. He wondered why this guy was in his office and more importantly, why he was acting as if they were the best of friends.
“Who are you?” Dante asked, cocking his eyebrow.
“I’m Marques, man,” he said as he pulled his hand back. “Marques Whitney, and I need to talk to you right quick. I was wondering if I could contract your legal services.”
“How did you get back here, Marques?”
Dante was going to have to have a little talk with Lindsey at the front desk. This was two instances of undesirables coming into his office. Not acceptable, Dante thought.
“Don’t worry about that, bruh!” Marques’s voice dropped down to a whisper. “Look, I got myself into a little situation with the cops. I got pulled over a few days ago and they found something in my . . . you know . . . vehicle.”
Dante sighed while Charisse stood in the center of the office with her arms crossed over her chest. She was still crying.
“I had to stay in lockup until my friend came and bailed me out,” Marques continued. “But the police are trying to pull me in for a hearing. They’re trying to get my ass on felony charges! You see, cuz I’m already on probation so—”
Dante raised his hand. “Let me stop you there. I do civil litigation, not criminal and even if I did do criminal work”—he paused to look Marques up and down—“you couldn’t afford my legal services.”
“Yeah, I figured that.” Marques’s grin faltered slightly. “I figured you’d . . . you know . . . give me a discount.”
“Right,” Dante said dryly. “Look, as I said before, I’m very busy and I have no interest in giving you a discount or being your lawyer. So if you would let me get back to my work, I’d appreciate it.”
“Oh, come on, man!” Marques exclaimed. “I need a lawyer!”
“So you’re going to continue to pretend that I’m not standing here,” Charisse said softly. “You’re going to act like I don’t exist?”
Dante tiredly walked to his desk and picked up his phone before dialing an extension code. “Lindsey? . . . Yeah, would you be so nice as to contact security? I’m going to need someone escorted from the building.”
“Oh, so you’re going to kick me out now, man?” Marques asked resentfully. “That’s some bullshit!”
“I ruined my marriage,” Charisse continued, slowly shaking her head and weeping. “I’ve given up everything!”
Dante fell back into his swivel chair and opened one of his desk drawers, pulling out a bottle of aspirin. He was starting to get a headache.
“How you gonna kick me out when we peeps? We almost family, bruh!”
“You are so heartless, Dante, so . . . so fucking cruel!”
“We tight, man! I know your sister! Paulette’s my girl and you gonna treat me like this?”
“I have nothing and you’re just going to abandon me?” Charisse cried.
At the mention of Paulette, Dante’s ears perked up. He stopped chewing his aspirin tablets and raised his weary head. He stared at Marques. “You know Paulette?”
“Hell, yeah, I know her!” Marques’s grin returned. “I know her real good.”
From the look in Marques’s eyes and the tone of his voice, Dante got a clue as to what “real good” meant. He was intrigued.
“We heard you needed someone escorted out?” a heavy baritone boomed, causing all of them to fall silent.
Dante looked up. Marques and Charisse turned. Two burly-looking security guards in ill-fitting black uniforms stood behind them. The guards’ broad shoulders and barrel chests took up the entire width of the doorway.
Dante nodded. “Yes, I do.” He rose from his chair and gestured to Charisse. “This woman is harassing me.”
Charisse stared at him, now staggered. She started to sputter with outrage.
“I asked her to leave and she declined. She is belligerent and obviously intoxicated. Would you please take her off the premises?”
The guards instantly stepped forward and grabbed both of Charisse’s arms. As they tugged her back, her high-heeled feet were lifted off the floor.
“Let go of me!” she screamed as they dragged her toward the doorway. “Let . . . go of . . . me, goddamn it!”
The guards ignored her, even as she kicked and flailed. She swatted them with her expensive leather purse, sending a compact and mascara flying, but the guards continued with the task at hand.
“Dante! Dante, you . . . you son of a bitch!” she yelled as she was dragged down the hall. “Daaaaaante!”
Dante strode toward the door and closed it. It didn’t shut out the sound of her screams entirely, but at least it muffled them.
“Damn,” Marques muttered with a shake of the head as he turned his baseball cap to the back. He sucked his teeth. “That’s one crazy bitch, bruh! That ain’t your chick, is it?”
“Don’t worry about her,” Dante ordered, stepping closer to Marques. “Tell me how you know my sister. Tell me everything.”
Chapter 26
PAULETTE
Paulette shoved open the door to her red BMW convertible—feeling as if she might rip the door off its hinges—and then slammed the door shut behind her as she stepped onto the asphalt driveway. She angrily strode up the steps toward the French doors of her brother’s mansion and rang the doorbell. She paced back and forth under the vestibule as she waited for the housekeeper to answer. All the while, she quietly muttered to herself, cursing under her breath.
Paulette had been invited to Evan’s home today to celebrate Evan and Leila’s engagement. The small gathering was supposed to toast the couple and wish them many years of long overdue happiness, but Paulette was in no mood to raise a glass to anyone—especially to the likes of Leila Hawkins. Not after she had just found out how Leila had betrayed her.
“That bitch,” she muttered as she continued to pace. “That back-stabbing bitch!”
How could Leila have done that? How could she have told Paulette’s most important secrets to someone like Dante?
Paulette had gotten a call from her eldest brother—or better put, she had been summoned by him earlier that day just as she was preparing to leave her home and head to Evan’s place. When she’d seen Dante’s number on her cell phone, she had initially ignored it. She’d had no desire to talk to that asshole, not after she’d heard about the affair he and Charisse had been having right under Evan’s nose.
Our own brother, she had thought with a slow shake of the head when she heard the news, remembering how Dante had told her that they were family now. The Murdochs had their faults, but they believed in family loyalty, above all else. A brother—flesh and blood—would never do that to someone!
Granted, Paulette had suspected that Evan and Leila had been having their own secret affair for several months prior to getting engaged—but she’d been willing to be a little more forgiving in that situation. She knew those two had mitigating circumstances, and she, of all people, understood mitigating circumstances when it came to affairs.
Everyone in the family knew that Charisse and Evan had been married in name only for the past few years. She could sense that her brother was unhappy in his marriage though he had tried to put up a noble front. His wife had been, at best, apathetic toward him and, at worst, outright hostile sometimes. Maybe Evan had been wrong to cheat, but Paulette was happy to see that he might finally get a little bit of happiness with the woman he had always loved. But those well wishes went down the drain soon after she talked to Dante.
&
nbsp; He had called her several times and she had let it go to voice mail. After he’d called for the fourth time, just as she had been grabbing her coat and heading toward the door, she’d finally dug her cell phone out of her purse. She’d picked it up on the third ring, now beyond irritated.
“What do you want, Dante?” she’d snapped.
He’d chuckled on the other end of the line. “Now is that any way to talk to your big brother?”
“My big brother is lucky I answered the phone at all, considering what a scumbag he is.”
“Watch it,” he’d ordered icily. “If I were you, I’d watch my tone and my words.”
“Uh-huh.” She’d rolled her eyes as she fished out her keys from the bottom of her snakeskin purse. “And why’s that?”
“Because I know your little secret . . . or shall we say, your secrets.”
She’d paused and squinted. “What are you talking about?”
“You know what I’m talking about, Paulette. Don’t play innocent, because we all know you aren’t. At least, I and your friend Marques know the truth anyway.”
At the mention of Marques’s name, her keys had tumbled from her hand and landed on the foyer’s tiled floor with a clatter. Her mouth had fallen open in shock.
“How . . . How d-do you know about Marques? What—?”
“Don’t worry. All will be explained as soon as we have our chitchat, little sis. Meet me at Starbucks on the corner of Maple Leaf and Barnaby Road in . . . oh, ten minutes.”
He’d then hung up and she’d stared at her cell phone in shock.
Paulette had hated how Dante assumed that she would come running, like a show dog responding to his command. She could just as well not show up at the coffee shop, pretending like his veiled threat didn’t matter. She could go straight to Evan’s house instead. But something had told her that would be a foolish mistake to add to the long list of foolish mistakes that she had made lately. So Paulette had braced herself and opened her front door to head to Starbucks to meet Dante.
She’d arrived at the coffee shop eight minutes later, feeling as if her stilettos were made out of cinderblocks, feeling as if she were marching toward the guillotine. Here she was, being manipulated all over again. When would it end?
She’d pushed open the glass door and seen Dante sitting at one of the bistro tables not far from the counter. He’d been sipping from a paper cup and reading a newspaper. When she’d drawn near his table, he’d looked up from the broadsheet, lowered his cup, and grinned.
“Ah, so you made it!”
She’d slammed her purse on the table and pulled out a chair, dragging it across the floor so that it emitted a metal scraping sound that was even louder than the espresso machine where the barista behind the counter was blasting foam into a cup. The noise from Paulette’s chair had made several of the coffee shop patrons look up and frown with annoyance. But she hadn’t cared. She’d flopped into the chair, crossed her legs, and cut straight to the chase.
“How did you find out about Marques?”
She’d watched as Dante slowly folded his newspaper, looking bored. “How do you think I found out about him?”
“Look, I’m not up to playing games! I’ve been blackmailed before. You could even say I’m an old pro at it,” she’d admitted ruefully. “Just tell me who told you.”
He’d continued to smile cryptically and drink his coffee.
“It wasn’t . . . it wasn’t Leila, was it?”
She’d known that he and Leila had dated briefly, but she couldn’t believe someone she considered a friend and almost family, a woman she trusted, would do this.
She’d answered her own question by quickly shaking her head. “No, it wasn’t her. That’s not . . . that’s not Leila. I know her.”
“You said you’ve been blackmailed before. If you’re really an old pro at this, I’m shocked that you could be so naïve, so trusting, Paulette.” He’d set down his coffee cup, leaned forward, and gazed into her eyes. “What if I told you Leila did tell me . . . that she blurted it out in bed one night after I fucked her . . . that she started rambling all the Murdoch family secrets to me?”
Paulette had fallen silent.
“You probably still wouldn’t believe me, would you? But let’s be honest, Paulette. You don’t know Leila as well as you think you do. You really don’t know anybody for that matter. Not her, not me, not Evan—”
“What does Evan have to do with this?” she’d snarled. “Don’t you dare bring him up!”
“Your precious big brother, Evan,” he’d muttered dryly. “Oh, yes. How dare I say anything bad about him. Your brother is so perfect, so goddamn wonderful. That explains why he’s been fucking his secretary, Leila, this whole time.” He’d inclined his head. “I heard they’re getting married. How nice! He might want to divorce his first wife though before he starts lining up the next one.”
“One of the reasons why our brother is getting a divorce is because of you! You betrayed him!” she’d shouted, pointing at Dante. “And now you’re trying to do the same to me. We accepted you as family, Dante. We trusted you! But we never should have—”
“Oh, wake up! Everybody turns on everybody. I’ve been around long enough to know that. You don’t think Evan would turn on you if the chance came along, if he had to make a choice between you and something that he loves, that he covets? If the choice came between you and Leila, who would he choose?” He laughed again and shook his head. “I suggest you stop being so trusting and start looking out for yourself.”
“I should start looking out for myself and be a two-faced asshole like you, you mean?”
“Two-faced asshole? I’m the one who knows your secret! I know about the abortion, Paulette,” he’d said, lowering his voice, making her blood run cold. “I know about the little thing you and Marques have going on. Would a backstabbing asshole keep secrets like that?”
Paulette had pursed her lips. “He would . . . if he wanted to use that information to his advantage.”
“Or maybe . . . just maybe, I want to use it to offer you an olive branch.” He’d reached out to touch her hand and she’d instantly pulled away from him in disgust, like a snake had just slithered across her skin. He laughed even harder. “Paulette, don’t you get it? I don’t want to hurt you or ruin you! Frankly, you’re small pickings to me, sweetheart. I’m willing to help you, to help neutralize your little problem, if you give me what I want.”
“Which is?”
Dante had shifted his coffee aside. His smile had returned. “Give me your shares in Murdoch Conglomerated.”
As Paulette continued to pace in front of Evan’s front door, she shook her head. She couldn’t believe that Leila had put her in this predicament. Dante had offered to “take care of Marques,” though he had given no clue to how he would go about doing that, and he’d said he would continue to keep Paulette’s secrets—if and only if she would sell him her share in the family company.
“At a deeply discounted price, of course,” he had said.
He would own a portion of the company equal to Terrence and Evan’s portions. He also would have the right to assert an equal voice at Murdoch Conglomerated, being one of the major shareholders.
Paulette didn’t understand what was the point of all this. Why did he care what went on at Murdoch Conglomerated? He was a lawyer, not a businessman. What was Dante’s end game? But Dante refused to tell her.
“You don’t need to know what all the wheels and cogs are doing, sweetheart,” Dante had muttered smugly as he rose from the bistro table. “You just need to know that the clock is ticking. Let me know your decision soon.”
Paulette looked up just as one of the French doors to Evan’s mansion finally opened.
“Good afternoon, Miss Williams,” the petite housekeeper said.
“Good afternoon,” Paulette mumbled in return. “Where’re my brothers?”
She knew Terrence was here already. She had spotted his Porsche parked in the driveway.
Less than a minute later, Paulette stepped through the entryway of the grand sitting room to find Terrence sitting on the off-white, spacious sofa, reaching for a chilled bottle resting on the antique Chinese coffee table. Meanwhile Evan was smiling and laughing in front of his two-story limestone fireplace. Leila leaned back against Evan with her head perched on his chest. His arm was wrapped possessively around her waist.
The newly engaged couple looked so comfortable, so content. Seeing them that way only made Paulette angrier.
“There she is!” Evan exclaimed, releasing Leila so he could walk toward his sister. “We were wondering where you were. I thought you said you were going to be here an hour ago.”
He strode across the sitting room, leaned down, and embraced her in a brotherly bear hug. She stiffly hugged him back, all the while glaring over his shoulder at Leila, who was blissfully unaware of Paulette’s animosity toward her.
“I had to make a quick stop,” she mumbled as he released her.
“Quick stop, huh? Well, we’re glad you made it. Terry was just about the break open the bottle, but I told him to wait until you got here.”
“Yeah, wouldn’t want to spoil the sparkling cider by opening it early,” Terrence said sarcastically, making Leila laugh.
Evan chuckled too. As he pulled back and looked more closely at his little sister, his smile faded. “Is everything okay? You look . . . off.”
“I’m fine,” Paulette answered flatly before walking around him and falling into one of the English wing chairs near the sofa. “Just fine.”
Terrence cocked a sardonic eyebrow at her. “Well, on that note . . .” He braced the heel of the bottle on his knee and released the cork with a loud “pop” that made them all jump in surprise. He then began pouring sparkling cider into the flutes lined along the coffee table. “Grab a glass! Grab a glass!”
Leila and Evan got their drinks first. Reluctantly, Paulette leaned forward and got a glass too.
Terrence rose from the sofa and held his flute aloft, grinning ear to ear. “I know we’re here to toast Evan and Leila’s engagement, but the truth is, Lee, you’re the one I really want to toast. I don’t know what voodoo you did. But whatever it was, you helped my brother escape from the clutches of that conniving, lying, Botoxed b—”