Love Not Money: An Interracial BWWM Billionaire Romance

by Barbie Ray

  She accepts a glass of champagne from the attendant. Her expression suggests that the surroundings impress her. But I have not given her many reasons to be impressed with me. I think she knows the difference. I want her to know that I am only cold-blooded in business. I am generous with my money and my sex. It is clear from our conversation that she still dearly loves Ms. Henry. Her loyalty is unshaken. When she realizes that I have used her to reveal Ms. Henry for what she really is, she will hate me. But so long as what I reveal is the truth, my conscience will be clear.

  “Basic Economy is more my speed,” she says as we sit on the sofa and the jet begins its taxi. “But I’m not complaining.” She gives me a cheeky smile. In that moment I imagine her as a teenaged runaway. She would have been smart and tenacious. But so young. I feel a strange pride for her and what she must have overcome. I am grateful that she made it out to be sitting here today. But I also feel a sudden and unwelcome regret that I unsealed her juvenile record. I suppose Hannah Henry would have been some help to her in those days. I understand loyalty. But must she defend the dodgy Hannah Henry as if she were a saint? I have been unscrupulous, too. But no one defends me with such devotion.

  As the jet lifts off, she balances her champagne flute on her knee and turns toward me.

  “I forgot to tell you that Saturday night is a formal dinner,” I say.

  “Oh.”

  “If you feel you need a dress, I will be happy to take care of the payment.”

  “Um – …”

  “If we were in a relationship, I would shower you with such gifts.”

  “Of course. We want to be authentic, right?” She bursts out laughing.

  I find myself smiling, even though I do not know why.

  She says through her laughter, “Usually I would say there’s no way I need a man to buy my clothes. But I can only imagine what the super-rich wear to dinner when they’re trying to impress someone even more super-rich. So, yes, you may buy me a dress!”

  I hold out my hand. She looks at my open palm for a moment and then places hers in it. “My father was poor,” I tell her. If I want her trust, she must believe that I trust her. “He managed a small hotel on Paros Island, on the Aegean Sea. But he had big dreams. My mother had inherited a little money and was vacationing with friends when she stayed at the hotel. They married two weeks later. But as he used her money to build his dream hotel, she came to believe the money was the real reason he married her.”

  “I did not know that.”

  “They fought a lot.”

  “That I did know.”

  “Ms. Henry was not my father’s first affair. My mother had them, too. I am not naïve. But as long as my parents stayed together, I hoped they could get back to when they were happy.”

  Her hand is still in mine. She curls her fingers around mine. “Do you blame Hannah for robbing you of that chance?”

  This is the insight I have come to expect from my Alisha. But when it is turned on me, I am uncomfortable. “My father was different with Ms. Henry. He told everyone what a great businesswoman she was. He introduced her to his associates. He said he was mentoring her, helping her to build a business of the future.”

  “You were worried that perhaps he was going to leave Olivia for Hannah?”

  “Do you know if he was?”

  “Who can say? But I doubt it. I do not believe Hannah and Stavros’s relationship was a love affair.”

  “Why do you say that?”

  “Hannah did not believe in love. When she was seven, her mother overdosed on heroin. Her father left her with a friend of his and never came back for her. She ended up in Child Services. She did not trust anyone. I don’t think she even entirely trusted me. I think she wanted to. I just think she could not. She dedicated her life to helping people who felt they had nowhere and no one to turn to. She was not a bad person. But she didn’t understand love. She understood loyalty.”

  “Robin Hood was a thief.”

  “You felt Stavros put Hannah in your place.”

  I did not mean to reveal so much. I am a man. These are a child’s concerns. But she offers me a commiseration I have not felt before. Alisha Padgett is not from my world. Yet, something about her feels like a chance. I enjoy touching her. She has long and delicate fingers, with a little knob on the top joint of her middle finger. My mother spent much of her time writing letters, menus, legal documents, and she had a similar knob. I like the feel of Alisha’s skin against my lips. I lift her fingers to my mouth and kiss them. She brushes the pad of her thumb over the seam of my lips. I open my eyes. She watches me. I have to be careful.

  I suddenly feel the cold of the air in the jet. I am being a fool. When have I ever let a beautiful face and a stunning body distract me from business? “That is how they made it seem,” I say. “At first I thought he did it to hide the affair. But he did not go to such lengths to hide his other affairs. So, why?” I must do what I came here to do. “I think he did it to distract from all the money he was funneling to Ms. Henry. I’ve reviewed the documents you filed with the court showing that over time my father donated almost one million dollars to HomeU. But I calculate there’s still another three million that went to Ms. Henry that is not accounted for. Why was my father giving Ms. Henry that kind of money? And where is that money now?”

  Chapter Six: Alisha

  Copperhead snakes camouflage themselves so well among dead leaves that you only know one is there after you have stepped on it. But I begin to see him now against his backdrop of private airport terminals, luxury jets, decadent champagne and sensuality.

  “This is why you brought me here.”

  “It is one reason.”

  I pull my hand from his. He holds on, trying to stop me. But he will learn I can be stubborn. I pull my hand away. Telling him about the contract between Stavros and Hannah could possibly ease his mind that Hannah took his place in Stavros’s affections. But I would never trust this man with that information. Too much is at stake. I talk to the champagne. “For people like you, everything is about money.”

  “You are here because of money,” he throws back at me.

  I cannot deny it. “It is one reason. We are all stuck-together parts of the good and that bad that have happened to us. You blame Hannah because your family will never be put back together again. So, you target a dead woman and an organization that helps the homeless. Does that make you a bad person?”

  “You did not answer my question. Where is the three million dollars Hannah Henry took from my father and that she did not funnel to HomeU?”

  People tend to assume lawyers are natural liars. Some are, of course, and are hired for that trait. But many more are ethical beings who live and practice within the law. I am one of those lawyers. I do not want to lie. But if I tell him the truth he will destroy Hannah’s memory and take HomeU with it. The Antoniadis does not need that money. HomeU does.

  “I do not know that there was or is money that Hannah took from Stavros that did not go to HomeU.” Technically, I have not lied. I know Hannah had three million dollars when she died. I know she had a contract with Stavros that could have been the reason she had that money. But I certainly do not know that for sure. Since Hannah’s death, I have realized she hid some of her choices and actions from me.

  But with this evasion or omission or whatever I eventually decide to call it – lie, perhaps – I have proven to myself that I see no possibility of a relationship with Nikos Antoniadis. I can never be in a relationship with someone I have to lie to or hide things from. I begin to feel more acutely the difference between me and Hannah. Hannah believed HomeU’s success justified anything short of a crime. I believe how I build my life matters. I do not think he realizes it, but Nikos is still coming to terms with his parents’ deaths … and their lives. I hear in his voice a boy who feels betrayed by the people who were supposed to love him more than anything. I can see him mulling over my answer, teasing out its meanings as the pilot announces our approach to Kismet Islan
d.

  I look out the window as we descend to a small oval-shaped island dissected by a wooded mountain ridge and surrounded by a border of white-sand beach. I step out of the plane and into humidity that I know will render my carefully relaxed hair significantly less relaxed.

  As we descend the mobile stairs, Nikos takes my hand. “Everyone will be looking for evidence that this relationship is either not what we’re saying or that it’s not going to last. So, assume we’re always on.”

  My hand in his, we walk across the tarmac. A diverse airport staff uniformed in tropical jackets over starched white pants greets us and a sleek Mercedes Maybach-Pullman whisks us away from the airport. We climb a slim paved road through lush sunlit foliage into the woody mountain canopied with tangled, untamed trees and hanging vines. At the crest, I look down upon the blue and white cubism of the Antoniadis Kismet Resort built into the mountainside and down to the white sand beach.

  “My family is from Paros, Greece," Nikos says, “The resort is based on the architecture of that heritage. But I have always enjoyed the Caribbean. It is where I spend most of my time. So, I wanted to blend the Cycladic architecture with that of the Caribbean.”

  “It’s beautiful."

  He looks at me and smiles. "Nai," he said. "Panemorfi." He raises my hand and pressed his lips to my knuckles. I do not need to speak Greek to get his meaning. I have only to acknowledge the way he looks at me to know he is saying I am beautiful. I feel myself blush. I cannot deny the electricity between us. It is exciting and terrifying.

  “But first we stop next door to the resort. In Kismet Town. It is where all the workers live. And it is where the party begins.”

  Chapter Seven: Nikos

  The electricity between us excites me. But there is more, too. She gentled me with her reaction on the plane. I called her friend a thief and she answered with kindness. She was upset, but she thought of me, too. She sought to understand me, like she understands that unscrupulous friend of hers. I feel a sudden desperate urge to have her naked beneath me. I want her moaning in pleasure, those hands on me. I want to bury myself in her. She must read something in my expression. She looks away from me and out the window.

  The sun is setting as the driver pulls the Maybach-Pullman to the sandy entrance of my aunt’s restaurant in Kismet Town. The Mediteribbean Café is my Aunt Thea’s indoor-outdoor beach-front restaurant alive with music and people. Aunt Thea cooks an expert but unpretentious fusion of Greek and Caribbean cuisine. On weekend nights, a DJ spins popular tunes and local favorites. I hear the lute and the santouri in the traditional Greek music he blares out of speakers toward the beach. The dance floor spills out onto the sand where a group of about twenty men and women join hands and dance the Kalamatianos.

  I slip my hand into Alisha’s as we walk up the sandy path to the restaurant’s entrance. I see many of my business associates. Her fingers tighten around mine. She is nervous, I think. I do not entirely understand the emotion I experience to have her hand in mine as we stand in the entrance under the eyes of some of my most important business associates. I want her here beside me. I want these people to see us as a couple. One unit. Together. I have not felt this before with any other woman. I recognize the smells of my childhood – basil, olives, coffee, pasta, pastry, fish – mingled together in the salty air. Festive guests occupy every table, and even more people crowd together at the bar on the beach. I want to enjoy this night with Alisha Padgett by my side. I do not really understand why.

  People recognize me and rush over. “This is my girlfriend, Alisha Padgett,” I say more than once. Some of my associates who were also friends with my mother recognize her name. They are surprised but too courteous to do anything other than politely acknowledge her. I wondered if I would feel that I was betraying my mother by bringing Alisha here. But I realize in this moment that I am proud to introduce Alisha as my girlfriend. She is honest and straightforward and she was not involved in whatever Ms. Henry was up to. I can trust her.

  Aunt Thea stands chatting at one table. She is a round black woman with a gray-specked afro and thick glasses. As she usually is, tonight she is swaddled in a loud plaid sundress under a flour-splattered apron. Her hair is braided around the crown of her head. People often look for an explanation of our relationship, but I rarely bother. She is my Aunt Thea. She throws her hands in the air and hurries over when she sees me. We hug as we always do, always so happy to see one another. She looks at Alisha with curiosity.

  “This is Alisha,” is all I say. “Alisha, this is my Aunt Thea. She is my father’s sister.”

  “Hello, Alisha,” Aunt Thea says with a welcoming smile.

  “It is a pleasure to meet you,” Alisha says politely. I can tell that she is nervous. I take her hand again in mine. Aunt Thea watches me. She was my only female confidante when I was growing up. She knows things about me I sometimes wish she did not. I want her to like Alisha. She looks at Alisha and then looks back at me. She looks at me longer than I like. I have never brought a woman to this retreat. But all she says is, “You come to eat?”

  “Of course,” I say. I explain to Alisha. “Aunt Thea owns this restaurant. But she is also a consultant for the resort’s menus. She is helping with the dinner tomorrow night.”

  Aunt Thea claps her hands together. “Special tonight is salt-fish yemista,” she calls back to us as she heads toward a young man bussing a table. “Joey, two yemista.”

  I look at Alisha. “Have you ever danced the Kalamatianos?” I want to share my heritage with her. She shakes her head.

  “Then tonight you must learn.” I take her hand and pull her to the circle of dancers. On the dance floor, I hold her hand up between us as the other dancers are doing and we join the circular line of dancers. We each hold hands with the people next to us. As we move around the floor, I guide her through the dance steps. Soon, everyone joins in the lesson. Alisha is smiling and laughing. She is a part of this night. I kiss her, quick and easy on the lips. A kiss like her laugh: heartfelt and genuine. When I pull away from her, I can feel everyone’s eyes on us. I am glad she is here and I am glad to be here with her.

  Chapter Eight: Alisha

  When we walked into the restaurant, Nikos’s guests descended upon him like locusts on wheat. I can tell that people are surprised we are together. They are almost all polite, though I can feel their scrutiny at times. But everyone is friendly and welcoming on the dance floor. The line of twenty dancers is oiled by cocktails and the joy of this salty, balmy night.

  Afterward, we sit at a table as Joey pushes through the crowd with two plates. The dish is shredded vegetables and salted fish stuffed into tomatoes and then baked to mouth-watering tenderness. A steady stream of people stops by the table to greet Nikos. He keeps my hand in his.

  “How long have you known Nikos?” Aunt Thea sits with us. She watches me. I see her often looking between Nikos and me.

  “For almost six months. But this is technically our first date.” Aunt Thea is the sort of woman it is hard to hide anything from.

  “Quite a first date,” she says in that lilting Caribbean accent.

  “Quite,” I say. I look back at Nikos. He pulls my hand to his lips and kisses it. He is good at this.

  “Let the man eat,” Aunt Thea says to the people who crowd our table seeking his attention. But Nikos’s guests do not relent.

  “He likes you,” Aunt Thea says as Nikos talks to yet another business associate.

  I gaze back at her. “I like him.”

  He looks at me when I say it. I thought he was too busy with his guests to hear. He smiles and kisses me smack on the lips. “I like you, too,” he says. My foolish heart cannot tell the difference between what is real and what is for show. I am almost glad that I have lied to him about the money. I can tell myself I know a relationship between us is impossible all I want. But some part of me still thinks, what if? There is no hope of such a relationship so long as that lie exists.

  As Nikos turns back to his guests,
Aunt Thea gives me a thoughtful look. “People often wonder how Nikos and I are related. Family can be unexpected. His grandfather, Georgios, came to the Bahamas in 1960s. Georgios was an expert sponge diver in Greece, on the Aegean, and in the Bahamas, we had some of the best sponge diving in the world.” Nikos talks to another of his guests. “He met my mother in Nassau. But by the time my mother knew I was coming, Georgios had returned to Greece. I was thirteen when my mother died. The government found Georgios in Greece. But he was married, with his own family. He had Stavros. I went back and forth between Greece and Nassau many times over the years. But I knew I would live in the Caribbean. When Nikos was looking for a secluded place to open a resort, I recommended Kismet. I didn’t expect him to buy the whole island.”

  “He does not seem unafraid of the grand gesture.”

  Aunt Thea smiles. “So, you do know him.”

  It is late and dark when the car takes us to a parking lot under the resort.

  “You must be tired,” Nikos says. “We will tour the resort in the morning. Tomorrow night is the big night.”

  The resort is in a cove semi-circled by mountains. I am nervous as we ride an elevator directly to a grand room built into the side of the mountain. We are the penthouse apartment. Our room is a gigantic one-bedroom suite with an office and a full kitchen. It is the size of my house.

  “This is where you will sleep,” Nikos says as she shows me the luxurious bedroom. My carry-on bag is on the king-sized bed.

  When he shows me the office, he points out the sleeper that converts into a bed. “I will sleep here.”

  Then he shows me the patio. It hosts a private plunge pool and a view of Kismet Bay and the Caribbean Sea beyond.

  “I will take a dip in the pool before I turn in,” he says. “Care to join me?”

  I know nothing real can come of this weekend but I care for this man. I am intensely attracted to him. I want these experiences. I want these memories. “Sure,” I say, trying to sound casual. He gives me a very naughty grin.