Tempting the Billionaire

by Niobia Bryant

  Ngozi was left with her curiosity about the deposition still nagging at her. With a bite of her bottom lip, she logged on to the company’s server and searched for the video file of the deposition. She stroked her chin and released long steady breaths at the sight of Chance and his attorney, Larry Rawlings, entering one of the three conference rooms in the offices of Vincent and Associates Law.

  Her heart raced at the sight of Chance. The night before, they had lain naked together in front of his lit fireplace as she worked on a new case and he read a book. Leaving him to return to Passion Grove had not been easy, especially because she knew his deposition was the next day.

  Now here she sat looking on like a Peeping Thomasina at his ex, a blonde and beautiful golden-skinned Afro-Cuban, entering the room with her attorney. She was rattled. She and Helena were completely different in looks, and although Ngozi was a confident woman, it would be hard to deny Helena’s stunning beauty...or the way Chance stared at her with such livid intensity.

  Ngozi’s heart was pounding as she looked on.

  “Ms. Guzman, were you actively involved in a relationship with Jason Young while planning your wedding to my client, Chance Castillo?” Larry asked, looking across the table at the woman over the rim of his horn-rimmed glasses.

  Larry’s slightly disheveled appearance and his brilliance didn’t align, which caught most people unfamiliar with him off guard.

  Helena conferred with her attorney before giving Larry a cool look. “No. It was not a relationship,” she said, her accent present.

  Chance loudly scoffed.

  Helena continued to ignore him.

  Ngozi nibbled on her bottom lip.

  Larry made a note on his notepad. “Were you and Mr. Young intimate during that time? Did you share meals? Did you vacation together? Did you have conversations about life? Did you ever discuss your future with him?”

  Helena again conferred with her attorney, a tall silver-haired woman with an olive complexion. “Per the advice of my counsel, I am invoking my right under the Fifth Amendment not to answer, on the grounds I may incriminate myself.”

  Ngozi winced when Chance jumped up out of his seat. “If I were you, I wouldn’t admit to being a scheming two-timing—”

  Larry rose to his feet and whispered in Chance’s ear.

  Both men took their seats.

  Ngozi barely heard the rest of their words because of her focus on how Helena barely glanced in Chance’s direction, but he never took his eyes off her. His hostility toward Helena seemed to swell and fill the room. Long after the deposition ended and the video faded to black, Ngozi couldn’t forget the look in his eyes or the tense stance of his frame.

  Sadness and jealousy stung with the sharpness of a needle. His demeanor gave credence to Helena’s response that the motivation for Chance’s lawsuit was irrational hurt brought on by a broken heart, and even more, injured pride.

  His anger was immense, and she felt his hurt was equal to it. As was the love he’d once had for her.

  Love he doesn’t have for me.

  His anger leaves no room in his heart for anything else.

  For a long time, she sat staring out the window with that thought foremost in her mind.

  * * *

  The dry heat of the sauna radiated against their nude frames as Ngozi sat astride Chance’s lap on one of the cedar benches lining the large infrared sauna. The red light cast their bronzed bodies with a glow meant to be therapeutic, but which also gave the warm interior a vibe that was sexy.

  “Talk to me, Ngozi.”

  Chance was stroking her back. He felt her stiffen for a millisecond before her body relaxed against his again. They’d decided to enjoy a sauna while a three-star Michelin chef who now worked exclusively as a private chef prepared them a romantic dinner. It was clear to him that her mind was elsewhere from the moment she had arrived at his estate.

  As much as he enjoyed the feel of her soft body pressed against the hard muscles of his frame, it was clear that a conversation was more needed than another session of fiery sex in a steamy room beneath a red light.

  She took a large breath that caused her chest to rise and fall as she sat up straight to look down into his face with serious eyes. “I don’t think I have a right to ask, because I know that I’m not where I should be with the death of my husband...and who am I to expect something from you that I can’t seem to claim for myself?”

  Chance felt lost in her gaze. “And what is that?” he asked, massaging her buttocks.

  “Moving beyond. Letting go,” she admitted with several soft nods as if to reaffirm her words to herself.

  He remembered the moment they shared in his SUV the night he brought her to dinner at his mother’s. “About your guilt?”

  She looked unsure. “Yes...my guilt about Dennis...and whether you could drop your lawsuit against Helena?” she asked, forcing her words out in a rush because of the courage it took for her to finally voice her worries.

  Chance frowned, and his hands paused on her bottom. “You want me to drop the lawsuit?” he asked, his surprise clear.

  Ngozi looked away from him as she nodded.

  He gently touched her chin and guided her face forward so that their eyes were locked once more. “What’s going on? Do you think I’ll lose? Is this about us? What...what’s going on?” he asked, his tone soft.

  Ngozi gave him a soft smile, looking up at the red light before glancing back at him. “Did you mean it when you said I could tell you anything?”

  “Absolutely, Ngozi. Anything,” he emphasized, as a dozen or more questions about the legal validity of his case raced through his head.

  “I have never told anyone that my marriage was not at all what it appeared to be,” she began, withdrawing her hands from his body as she bent her arms and pressed her hands to the back of her neck. “I think we were meant to be friends rather than spouses, because in the end this person with whom I had once enjoyed spending time began to feel like an...an...adversary.”

  Ngozi tilted her head, exposing the smooth expanse of her neck as she closed her eyes and released a long breath.

  He remained quiet, wanting her to unload her feelings.

  “In law school we worked together to study, pass tests and graduate, but soon our careers seemed to take us in two different directions, and all of a sudden, we were cold and distant with each other, and the only heat was in arguments, but then we would put on the greatest show alive like circus monkeys and pretend in public. All smiles. All kisses. All lovey-dovey bull. Nothing but icing covering up shit.”

  She looked off into the distance, but the pain in her eyes was clear. “We were in our apartment one Sunday and we were both preparing for cases the next day. He was in our office, and I was in the living room on the floor in front of the fireplace. I was feeling weary and decided to make coffee. I made him a cup just the way he liked, black and sweet, in this huge Superman mug that he’d had since like high school,” she said softly, as if back in the moment. “I took the coffee in to him and he didn’t look up at me or say thank you. I don’t know, in that moment I was so sick of the silence and the distance and the way we were with each other. I missed my friend and I felt like I hated my husband—and they were one in the same man.”

  Chance noticed she was raking the tips of her fingernails against her neck, and he reached up to take her hand into his. She seemed so lost in her thoughts that he wondered if she even noticed.

  “In that moment I just wanted him out of the apartment, out of my sight. Just gone,” she said, her expression becoming pained. “I asked him to go get lunch, just to get him out...and...and he never came back.”

  Her body tensed, and she winced as a tear raced down her cheek, quickly followed by another and another.

  Chance’s heart ached for her. “What happened, Ngozi?” he asked, his voice tempered.

&
nbsp; “A car crash,” she said. “I wished he was gone. I wanted our marriage over. I sent him out. And he never came back. And I have never told a soul,” she admitted in a harsh whisper.

  “Oh, baby, you can’t put the weight of his death on your conscience or your shoulders like that,” Chance said, pressing his hands to her face.

  She nodded. “My brain understands that, but I still feel like I don’t deserve to be so happy.”

  “With me?” he asked.

  Ngozi looked at him. “You were the last thing I was looking for, Chance Castillo,” she admitted. “And now I wonder just what I would do without you.”

  His heart swelled and filled with an emotion for her that had become familiar of late. An emotion he was still hesitant to claim but was finding hard to deny.

  I love her.

  His heart pounded furiously.

  “Do you still love Helena?”

  His brows dipped. “No,” he said unequivocally.

  I love you.

  “Then why the lawsuit, Chance?” Ngozi asked. “It keeps you connected to her. It keeps you angry at her.”

  He stiffened, feeling uneasy. “I’m not—”

  “I saw the video of the deposition, Chance.”

  He swallowed the rest of his denial, closing his eyes to avoid her gaze on him. Yes, Helena had infuriated him earlier in the deposition. That was undeniable. “It was my first time seeing her since she walked out on me before the wedding,” he admitted, giving her the same glimpse into his vulnerability that she’d given him. “All I could think about when I was looking at her is how much she’d fooled me. Made a fool of me. It took me back to being the poor kid at school with the rich kids, with girls who looked a lot like Helena, who wouldn’t give me the time of day.”

  Damn.

  The thought that childhood issues still affected him stung like crazy.

  Ngozi stroked his face and he turned his head toward her touch, enjoying the warmth, care and concern he felt there.

  “I’m not dropping the case, Ngozi,” he insisted, waiting for her touch to cease.

  It didn’t.

  But she released a heavy breath. “Chance?”

  “I don’t want her back. I am glad that she didn’t marry me and have me financing her side relationship, but it was wasteful and vindictive to push for a huge wedding on my dime when she knew she wasn’t all-in, Ngozi. She doesn’t just get to walk away with no consequences. She left me holding the bag regarding that wedding.”

  Ngozi said no more as she rested her forehead against his.

  He knew she still held her doubts about his feelings for Helena, and he wanted nothing more than to admit that she had captured the heart he swore he would never entrust to another woman again. But the moment didn’t call for it. It would seem more of a ploy than a revelation of his true feelings, so he held back, admitting that he needed time to adjust to the truth himself.

  I love Ngozi.

  * * *

  The sound of utensils hitting against flatware echoed into the quiet of the stately dining room as Chance, Ngozi and her parents enjoyed their dinner of prime rib, potatoes au gratin and sautéed string beans.

  It was so awkward.

  Ngozi took a sip of plum wine—a deep one.

  “So, Chance, tell me more about your work?” Horace asked, settling back in his chair as he eyed the man sitting to his right.

  Ngozi went tense. Work? Chance spent his downtime planning what to do during his free time.

  “Once I sold my app, I shifted away from finance full-time, and now I have a few different irons in the fire,” he said, sounding confident and proud. “I’m a consultant and minority owner of the firm that purchased the app I developed. I do freelance investing for several clients that insisted I continue to work on their portfolios. And I’m currently finishing up a new app to help productivity for businesspeople on the go.”

  Ngozi sputtered the sip of wine she just took, her eyes wide in surprise. Was he lying to impress her parents? Why don’t I know about any of this?

  All eyes shifted to her as she grabbed her cloth napkin and cleaned up the small splatter she had made on the tabletop.

  “Ngozi, since you don’t drink alcohol much, maybe you should take it easy on that wine,” Valerie said.

  Chance frowned deeply. “She drinks—”

  Ngozi kicked his shin under the table, silencing him.

  He grunted as he eyed her with a hard stare.

  “You’re right, Ma. I better stick to water,” she said, setting the goblet of wine aside as she avoided Chance’s confused stare.

  Their conversation continued, and the air became less tense as the questioning of Chance subsided. Ngozi sat back and observed her parents and her man as the conversation switched to politics. She had never imagined introducing her parents to a man other than Dennis—and definitely assumed they would resent him because of their fondness of her deceased husband.

  This isn’t bad. Not bad at all.

  “So how long have you been interested in my daughter?” Valerie asked, before sliding a bite of food in her mouth.

  Ngozi sat up straight. What now? Weren’t they just talking about the president?

  “Not long, really,” she said, purposefully vague.

  Chance gave her another odd expression. “From the first day we met, I wanted to know more about her other than her beauty,” he said, resting his eyes on Ngozi.

  She swallowed a sudden lump in her throat, finding herself unable to look away from him.

  “I have discovered that she is as brilliant, caring, empathetic, loyal and funny as she is beautiful,” he added.

  Her entire body warmed under his praise. It was hard to deny that in time she had not felt appreciated or respected in her marriage. It was as if the success in her career had to be diminished to soothe the ego of a man used to being in the lead.

  With Chance, it was different. He was her biggest champion.

  After dinner and some more polite conversation over coffee and drinks, Ngozi looked on as Chance shook her father’s hand and offered her mother a polite hug. “It was good to meet you both,” he said.

  “Same here,” her father said with a nod, turning his attention to his nightly ritual of smoking a cigar and reading the local newspaper, The Passion Grove Press, which was mostly news and tidbits about the small town and the achievements of its residents.

  “See, I survived,” Chance said as they walked together to the front door.

  Ngozi nodded, wrapping both of her arms around one of his. “Yes, you did,” she said, looking up at him.

  At the sound of footsteps, she quickly released him, but relaxed when she turned to find Reeds carrying Chance’s leather coat. “Thank you, Reeds,” she said.

  “No problem,” he said, undraping it from over his arm and handing it to Chance with a warm smile. “Drive safe, sir.”

  “Thank you.”

  Ngozi looked up at Chance but was surprised by the troubled look clouding his handsome features. “What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing,” he said, outstretching each arm to pull on his fur-lined coat to defeat the arctic northeaster snow still dominating the March weather. “Are you coming back to Alpine with me?”

  Her hands paused in smoothing the collar of his coat. “No, not tonight.”

  “You haven’t stayed over except that one time,” he said, his brows dipping as he brought his own hands up to cover hers.

  Ngozi forced a smile, remembering her parents’ ambushing her that next morning. “I will again,” she said, conciliating him.

  “Not with me, Ngozi,” he said. “No, ma’am. Save the show for those who purchased a ticket. Me? I want nothing but the real. So, no, not with me. Never with me.”

  Ngozi withdrew her hands from his and rubbed them together as she looked into hi
s eyes. “You’re the only one who makes me feel like I can be me, whatever that may be. Shit show and all,” she said, moving to take a seat on the bottom of the staircase.

  Chance walked over to stand in front of where she sat, his hands now pressed into the pockets of his coat.

  “I just would prefer my parents not know we’ve...uh...we’re...intimate,” she said.

  He frowned as he looked up at the large chandelier above their heads. “Or that you drink. Or how long we’ve been together. Or a dozen other things I saw you outright lie or skirt the truth around tonight,” he said.

  “Really, Chance?” she asked, leaning to the side a bit as she gave him a stare filled with attitude.

  “Really,” he affirmed, looking down at her. “It was quite a performance.”

  Ngozi rose and moved up two steps so they were eye level with each other. “Don’t judge me, Chance,” she warned.

  “Like you did about the lawsuit?” he asked, his voice chiding.

  Wow.

  “I’m wrong for making sure I’m not wasting my time trying to build something with you?” she asked.

  “No, definitely not. Just like it’s okay for me to now be skeptical about moving forward after seeing you so willingly—and so easily—present yourself as whatever is needed in the moment,” he countered.

  “You don’t trust me, Chance?” she asked, her feelings hurt by the thought of that.

  He shook his head. “I didn’t say that,” he insisted. “But I do wonder if you even trust yourself to be who and what you truly want to be, if you are so busy playing the role of Ms. Perfect.”

  Ngozi arched a brow. “That’s not playing perfect—it’s providing respect,” she countered.

  “And who were you respecting by staying in an unhappy marriage—”

  Ngozi held up both hands with her palms facing him as she shook her head vigorously. “No, you don’t get to focus on issues you think I have and ignore the emotional baggage sitting on your own doorstep.”

  They fell silent. The air was tense. Gone was the joy they usually had just being in each other’s company.

  “It seems we both have some stuff we need to fix,” Chance finally offered.