Tempting the Billionaire

by Niobia Bryant

  I don’t want to lie. I don’t want to deny Chance. I don’t want to.

  “Chance Castillo,” she said, physically and mentally steeling herself for a long list of questions and reminders of obligations to Dennis even beyond his death.

  Silence reigned.

  Their faces were unreadable.

  “Invite him to dinner,” her mother said.

  Ngozi grimaced. “But—”

  “Soon,” her father added before returning his attention to his coffee.

  “Horace, we better go up and get ready,” Val said, rising from her seat. “We have that breakfast meeting with possible donors for my upcoming campaign.”

  Ngozi looked from one to the other, her mouth slightly ajar. She couldn’t hide her shock, even as they eased past her to leave her in the kitchen alone.

  * * *

  Chance carefully steered his silver Bentley Bentayga SUV over the busy New Jersey streets, being sure to stay focused with all of the snow and ice on the ground. As he pulled the vehicle to a stop at a red traffic light, he looked over at Ngozi sitting beside him in the passenger seat. He smiled at all the nervous gestures he spotted. Swaying her knee back and forth. Twisting the large diamond-encrusted dome ring she wore on her index finger. Nibbling on her bottom lip.

  He had picked her up from work, fresh off yet another trial win, and she was dressed in a claret ostrich feather coat with a turtleneck and pencil leather skirt of the same shade that was beautiful against her mocha complexion, particularly with the deep mahogany lipstick she wore.

  “Mi madre no muerde, sabes,” he said, giving her thigh a warm rub and squeeze as he steered forward under the green traffic light with his other hand.

  “She doesn’t bite, huh?” Ngozi said, translating his words. Inside the dimly lit interior of the SUV, she glanced at him with a weak smile. “I told you my parents want to meet you as well, so let’s see how easy-breezy you are when I finally get the nerve to serve you up to them.”

  “I’m ready,” Chance said with a chuckle as he turned onto the short paved drive of his mother’s two-story brick home just a few miles from his estate. He pressed the button to open the door of the two-car garage and pulled into the empty spot next to her red convertible Mercedes Benz she called “Spicy.”

  “And the deposition tomorrow—are you ready for that?” Ngozi asked.

  Chance shut the SUV off and looked over at her. The overhead motion lighting of the garage lit up the car, offering him a clearer view of her face. “Yes, I am.”

  “That’s good,” she said. “Just be sure to keep your cool.”

  He frowned. They rarely discussed his lawsuit against Helena. “My cool?”

  Ngozi reached for the handle to the passenger door. She looked nonplussed. “Same advice I would give if you were still my client,” she said matter-of-factly with a one-shoulder shrug.

  “But you’re not my attorney, you’re my woman,” he reminded her.

  Ngozi relaxed back against the seat. She stroked the underside of his chin, letting the short beard hairs prick against her hand. “Your woman, huh?” she asked.

  He smiled as he leaned in and pressed his lips to her own as he reached down to use the controls to lower her seat backward.

  “Don’t...start...something...we...can’t...finish,” she whispered up to him in between kisses as her eyes studied his.

  “Who says we can’t—”

  “Chance! Are you coming in?”

  They froze before they sat straight up in their separate chairs again.

  Chance looked through the windshield at his mother standing in the open doorway leading from the garage into her kitchen. She was squinting as she peered into the car with a frown.

  Ngozi covered her face with her hands, feeling the warmth of embarrassment that rose in her cheeks. “Oh God,” she moaned.

  Chance chuckled before he opened the driver’s side door. “We’re headed right in,” he called out to her.

  She turned and walked back into the house, leaving the door ajar.

  “Great first impression,” Ngozi drawled, before he climbed from the car and strode around the front to open the passenger door.

  “No worries, mi tentadora,” he said, closing the door when she stepped aside.

  “Your temptress?” she asked, looking back at him as she climbed the brick staircase.

  Yes, you are.

  A relationship had not been in the cards for him after Helena, but Ngozi had drawn him in from their first meeting and he hadn’t been able to shake his desire for her ever since. She was his temptation. His temptress.

  And in time, his acceptance of that truth shook him to his core.

  “Ready?” he asked, seeing the nervousness in her eyes as she waited for him to pull the glass door open for her.

  She nodded before stepping inside.

  Chance eyed his mother as she turned and walked across the spacious kitchen with a wide, warm smile.

  “Welcome, welcome,” Esmerelda said, grasping Ngozi’s shoulders as she kissed both of her cheeks. “It’s nice to meet you.”

  Chance eyed Ngozi as she returned the warmth, and her shoulders relaxed.

  Their exchange pleased him.

  “We can go in to eat since you were running a little behind,” she said, with a meaningful stare at Chance.

  He gave her a wide smile. Her disapproval vanished.

  “What do you want me to carry, Ma?” Chance asked.

  “Nothing, just go on in.”

  Chance led Ngozi out of the kitchen and through to the dining room. The large wood table, covered with a beautiful lace tablecloth that looked out of place among the modern design of the home, was set for three with his mother’s favorite crystal drink ware and a large floral arrangement. “She went all out,” he said as he pulled back the chair for Ngozi at the table.

  She took the seat, smiling up at him when he stroked her neck before moving around the table to take the chair across from her.

  “Relax,” he mouthed as his mother began carrying in large ceramic bowls in bright colors to set on the table.

  The smell of the food intensified, and Chance’s stomach rumbled.

  “I’m too nervous to eat,” she admitted.

  “Nervous? Why?” Esmerelda asked, setting down a bowl of white rice and a pitcher of amber-colored liquid with fresh fruit pieces.

  “Nothing, Ms. Castillo,” Ngozi said.

  Chance fought not to wince as his mother gave her a stiff smile. “It’s Ms. Diaz,” she said with emphasis. “Castillo is the name of his father, who didn’t choose to share it with me by marriage.”

  Ngozi remained silent, giving Chance a pointed stare as his mother took her seat at the head of the table.

  “She didn’t know, Ma,” he said, reaching to remove the lid from the bright turquoise tureen. “Tayota guisada con longaniza. I love it.”

  “This is a popular dish from my country,” Esmerelda said, scooping a heaped spoonful of rice into each of three bowls stacked by her place setting. She handed each bowl to Chance to ladle the sausage and chayote cooked in tomato sauce, onion, garlic, cilantro and bell peppers. “I hope you don’t find it too spicy. Sometimes the palate of those not raised in our culture is delicate.”

  Chance frowned. Traditionally, there wasn’t much heat to the dish.

  “I’m sure it’s fine. Everything looks delicious,” Ngozi said, using both of her hands to accept the bowl he handed her.

  He picked up his spoon and dug in, enjoying the flavor of the food. There was a little bit of a spicy kick that tickled even his tongue.

  Ngozi coughed.

  He glanced across the table at her. Sweat beads were on her upper lip and forehead. Her eyes were glassy from tears.

  She coughed some more.

  Chance rushed to fill her gl
ass with his mother’s homemade fruit juice, standing to reach across the table and press it into her hands.

  Ngozi drank from it in large gulps.

  “I’m so sorry, Ngozi. Perhaps I can fix you something else if that is too much for you,” Esmerelda said, sounding contrite.

  Ngozi cleared her throat. “No, this is delicious,” she said, setting the glass down before dabbing her upper lip with the cloth napkin she’d opened across her lap.

  Chance shook his head. “You don’t have to—”

  “This is fine,” she said, giving him a hard stare and his mother a soft smile before taking a smaller bite of the dish from her bowl.

  As their meal continued in silence, Chance eyed Ngozi taking small bites of food followed by large sips of juice. It was clear she didn’t want to offend his mother.

  “Ngozi, Chance tells me you’re an attorney,” Esmerelda said, covering her nearly empty bowl with her cloth napkin as she placed her elbows on the table and looked directly at Ngozi.

  “Yes, I’m a junior partner of the firm my father established,” she answered.

  “My Chance seems to have a soft spot for attorneys,” she said.

  Ngozi licked her lips as she set her napkin on the table.

  “Helena and Ngozi are nothing alike,” Chance offered into the stilted silence.

  “Espero que no, por tu bien,” Esmerelda said. “Ella debería estar llorando a su esposo y no buscando uno nuevo. Los buscadores de oro huelen el dinero como tiburones huelen a sangre.”

  “Ma,” he snapped sharply as he sat up straight in the chair and eyed her in surprise and disappointment.

  He could hardly believe her words and could only imagine how harsh they sounded to Ngozi: “I hope not for your sake. She should be grieving her husband and not looking for a new one. Gold diggers smell money like sharks smell blood.” Ngozi rose to her feet, looking down at his mother. Chance rose, as well.

  “Se equivoca acerca de mí, Señora Díaz,” Ngozi said.

  His mother’s jaw tightened, and her eyes widened in surprise to find Ngozi speak in fluent Spanish to proclaim that she was wrong about her.

  Chance shook his head. He agreed with Ngozi that his mother was mistaken about her.

  “I am not a gold digger nor am I on the prowl to replace my dead husband with a new one,” she said in his mother’s native tongue, her voice hollow.

  Chance eyed his mother in disbelief. He could tell she felt his stare as she avoided his look.

  “My apologies if I offended you,” Esmerelda said, reverting to English.

  “Thank you for dinner,” Ngozi said before quickly turning to walk into the kitchen. Soon the alarm system announced the opening and closing of the side entrance door.

  Chance’s eyes continued to bore into her.

  “What?” she asked.

  “You have never taught me or shown me the example of how to be rude and mean to anyone,” he began. “I’m just trying to figure out who is sitting before me.”

  Esmerelda turned in her chair and looked up at him. “I watched you recover from heartbreak by Ese Rubio Diablo for almost a year, so what you see now is a mother willing to fight to make sure you don’t go through that heartache again,” she said, her voice impassioned and her eyes lit with the fire of determination.

  “I know you mean well, but Ngozi should not have to suffer for what Helena did to me,” Chance insisted, forcing softness into his tone. “All I ask is that you give her the same kindness you give strangers. Even a dog deserves respect, Ma.”

  She shrugged and turned her lips downward.

  He stepped near her and bent at the waist to press a kiss to the top of her head. “Thank you for dinner,” he said and then frowned deeply as he rose to look down at her again in skepticism. “Did you spice the food on purpose?”

  Esmerelda sucked air between her teeth and threw her hands up. “It didn’t kill her,” she said.

  “Ma!”

  “What?”

  “I’ll see you later,” Chance said, walking around her chair. He paused. “Do you need anything?”

  “Just for you to be happy,” Esmerelda said.

  “I’m a grown man. My happiness is in my hands now,” he said. “You don’t have to work double shifts to take care of me and send me to private school. I will love you and spoil you because of your sacrifice, but your time putting me before yourself is over. I got it from here.”

  She remained quiet and studied her nails.

  He could tell she was hurt, but the truth of his words could not be retracted to save her feelings. He gave his mother the world, but he was a man who had no desire to be babied and coddled by his mother.

  “Te amo, Ma.”

  “I love you, too, Chance.”

  With that he took his leave.

  Ngozi was sitting in the SUV. He eyed her through the windshield as he made his way over to the driver’s side door. He climbed inside. Unspoken words swelled between them.

  Chance licked his lips and reached over to take one of her soft hands in his. “Say it,” he urged. “I’m listening.”

  “It’s nothing. I’m fine,” she said, looking to him with a smile as fake as the plastic one pinned onto a Mr. Potato Head toy.

  “Don’t ever deny your feelings for the sake of anyone—not me or anyone else—because they matter,” he said.

  She smiled again. It was soft and genuine. “I wouldn’t know what it feels like to put myself first,” she admitted.

  Chance leaned over to press kisses to the side of her face. “Try it,” he whispered into her ear.

  “I want you to know that I am not looking to replace Dennis,” she said, turning on the seat to face him. “Hell, I don’t even feel I have the right to move on and be happy when he’s dead.”

  Chance took a moment to properly frame what he said next. “I never expect you to let go of Dennis.”

  She began to stroke his hand. “Not of him, of my guilt,” she acknowledged before closing her eyes and releasing a breath.

  He wondered if talking about him was like releasing steam to dissolve the buildup of pressure.

  “We’ve never spoken of his death,” he offered, being sure to tread lightly to avoid stepping on or disrespecting her feelings.

  “I’ve never talked about it with anyone.”

  Her sadness was palpable, and his gut ached for her. “And do you want to talk now?” he asked.

  Ngozi shook her head. “Not yet, but thank you for letting me know that someone is there to finally listen to me.”

  “Sounds like a lot to unload from that clever brain of yours,” he said, his eyes searching his.

  “It is. Think you can handle it?”

  With a final kiss, he turned his attention to starting the car. “For you I will do anything,” he said, letting the truth of his words settle in his chest as the engine roared to life.

  Chapter 8

  No, Ngozi. No.

  Determined not to give in to her own curiosity, she pushed back from her desk and crossed her arms over her chest. Her eyes stayed locked on her computer monitor, though. She had to tighten her fingers into a fist, hoping to stop herself from reaching out and pulling up the video recording of the deposition of Helena Guzman in Chance’s lawsuit against her.

  No.

  Ngozi had been in court all morning and missed when Helena and her attorney arrived. She considered it a mixed blessing.

  Grabbing the edge of her desk, she rolled the few inches forward and picked up her pen. Even as she reviewed the case file in front of her, her attention kept shifting to her monitor. To hell with it.

  Ngozi reached for the keyboard.

  “Ms. J.”

  She jumped like a startled deer, rising and then dropping back down in her seat. Angel looked at her in bewilderment. She cleared her thr
oat and pressed her palms down on the desk. “Yes, Angel?” she asked, thankful for the black shirt and simple wide-leg slacks the young lady wore.

  She’d really been making an effort of late to tame her wild ways and boisterous unprofessional behavior. Ngozi took note, appreciated it and was proud of her.

  Angel walked in the room, looking nervous as she set an envelope before her.

  “What’s this?” Ngozi said, opening the flap to find a check.

  “I finally saved enough to repay you for my fine and the bond that you paid,” Angel said with a wide smile. “And that’s the first check I ever wrote from my new checking account, ya heard me.”

  Ngozi was stunned and she sat back in her chair, letting the check and the envelope drop to the desk as she pressed her fingertips to her lips. There was no denying the pride on Angel’s face. And it was the reason she fought just as hard for her pro bono cases as all her others. The hope of giving someone a second chance to better their lives. To find a better way. And in truth, out of all the clients she went above and beyond her attorney duties for, she wouldn’t have guessed that Angel would be such a success story.

  “If it wasn’t for you, I would still be stripping and tricking. Now I’m looking up to you, and I ain’t gonna never be no lawyer or nothing, but I want to go back to school...because of you. So thank you for seeing something in me ’cause it taught me to see more in myself, Ms. J.,” Angel said.

  Ngozi felt emotional, but she kept her face neutral. Maintained her professionalism.

  Stuck to her routine—her facade.

  Don’t ever deny your feelings for the sake of anyone—not me or anyone else—because they matter.

  Taking a breath, she rose from her seat and came around the desk to pull Angel into a tight hug. “I’m so proud of you,” she said, letting her emotions swell in her tone. “Keep it up.”

  “I will, Ms. J. I won’t let you down,” she promised.

  Ngozi nodded, releasing her as she stepped back. “I believe that. Thank you,” she said, turning to reclaim her seat behind her desk.

  Angel took her leave with one last little wave.

  “Shut the door, please,” she requested, already turning her attention back to her wireless keyboard.