Pleasure at Midnight ; His Pick for Passion

by Pamela Yaye

  “Welcome to Madrid Law,” she chirped in a thick, Spanish accent. “How may I help you?”

  With her blond bob hairstyle, oval-shaped face, she looked like an older version of the rapper Cardi B, and had the squeaky, high-pitched voice to match.

  “Hello, I’m Roderick Drake, and I’m here to see—”

  “You’re American!” The receptionist stuck out her chest and fluffed her hair. “I’ve always wanted to visit America. I heard there are celebrities everywhere!”

  Amused by her naivety, Roderick returned her smile. “Is Mr. Cabrero available?”

  “Are you available?” A grin curled her lips. “This must be my lucky day. First, I find fifty euro in my abuela’s purse, then I meet you, a handsome, successful man from America.”

  Roderick glanced at his Rolex watch, hoping she’d get the hint, but she continued flirting with him. The phone rang on her desk, but she didn’t answer it.

  “It was nice meeting you, but I’m really pressed for time. Is Mr. Cabrero around?”

  Ignoring his question, the receptionist chatted about her desire to find love, get married and relocate to the United States. Roderick knew Madrileños were friendly, outgoing people who loved shooting the breeze, but he’d never met someone with such a bold personality. Her honesty was a turnoff, and her shrill voice was giving him a migraine. The receptionist was cute, but it took more than a pretty face to capture his attention. Furthermore, Roderick had no desire to settle down. Not after everything his ex-fiancée had put him through.

  Anger stabbed his heart. He’d been single for nine months, but every time Roderick thought about what Toya did to him, his hands balled into fists. Initially, he’d hoped she’d come to her senses and return to his estate, but when he heard about her engagement to a hedge fund manager fifteen years her senior, his feelings for her died. She’d humiliated him, made him the laughingstock of the Hamptons, and if not for his brothers, he never would have survived her bitter betrayal. Roderick would never date someone like Toya again. He wanted to date someone who was humble and sincere—like Geneviève, offered his inner voice. She’s independent, mature and classy too.

  Roderick booted the thought from his mind. No way, no how. Dating a client was out of the question, and if he crossed the line with the pop star he could lose his job, and nothing mattered more to Roderick than becoming the first African American partner at his firm. He was attracted to Geneviève, but he’d never act on his feelings. He couldn’t risk upsetting Althea, or worse, his boss.

  “Are you free tonight? I know the best places to party, and I would love to show you around Madrid,” the receptionist said, sticking out her chest.

  “Thanks for the offer, but I’m busy.” Roderick took his cell phone out of his pocket and raised it in the air. “Should I call Mr. Cabrero, or can you show me to his office?”

  Her face fell, and her shoulders caved in.

  A dark-haired man in an ill-fitted black suit and checkered tie appeared at the front desk, and the receptionist hopped like a rabbit in a meadow.

  “M-M-Mr. Drake just arrived,” she stammered in a wobbly voice. “I was going to bring him to the conference room, but we got to talking and, ah, lost track of time.”

  Roderick scoffed. Is that what happened? More like you held me hostage!

  “Mr. Drake, it’s a pleasure to meet you. I’m Bautista Cabrero.”

  The men shook hands, and the short, stocky attorney led Roderick through the corridor.

  “Sorry about that,” he said, with an apologetic smile. “My sister is a chatterbox, but if I fire her my madre will disown me, and I can’t live without my mother’s cooking.”

  Roderick chuckled. He was a good judge of character and liked Bautista’s jovial personality and warm smile. He heard telephones buzzing, people speaking in Spanish and boisterous laughter. The carpet had coffee stains, but the colorful oil paintings of the Spanish countryside hanging on the cream walls brightened the space.

  Entering the conference room at the end of the hallway, Roderick noticed a slim, clean-cut man standing in front of the window, and frowned. This was Geneviève’s attacker?

  Roderick scrutinized the stranger’s appearance. He’d expected her attacker to be a street thug, someone with piercings, tattoos and baggy clothes, but in his navy blazer, V-neck shirt and dark, crisp slacks, José Sánchez could pass for one of the interns at Welker, Bradford and Davidson.

  “Mr. Drake, thank you for coming,” Mr. Cabrero said, gesturing to a chair at the round table. “Please have a seat. I know you’re a busy man, so let’s get down to business, shall we?”

  Roderick sat down and opened his briefcase. He remembered every detail of his hour-long conversation with Geneviève yesterday—how her voice shook as she spoke, the sadness in her eyes, her subdued demeanor—but he still opened his manila folder and consulted his notes. “I spoke to Ms. Harris at length yesterday about the incident that took place outside Madrid-Barajas International Airport on New Year’s Day, and she was very forthcoming about what happened.”

  “Oh good, so she admits to striking José repeatedly in the face.”

  “No,” Roderick said in a firm voice. “He grabbed her, and she slapped him once.”

  José made his eyes wide. “That’s a lie. I wanted to take a picture of her, but her bodyguards were shielding her from the crowd, and I couldn’t get close enough to her touch her.”

  Roderick believed Geneviève. Had no reason not to. She wasn’t a hothead who got off on attacking people, and during her twenty-year career she’d never been sued or accused of assaulting anyone. “Then why did she slap you? Just for the hell of it? That doesn’t make any sense, Mr. Sánchez, and you know it.”

  “Beats me.” Shrugging a shoulder, the teen wore a sad smile. “Maybe she was having a bad day, or was cranky after her flight from Portugal. I don’t know, and I don’t care. All I know is Geneviève hit me, and she needs to pay for what she did.”

  Inside, Roderick was seething. He suspected the college student had set Geneviève up, and wanted to wring his neck for putting his hands on her, but he exercised self-control. Told himself to relax. Not to lose his temper and give his enemy the upper hand. One way or another he’d uncover the truth, and when he did, José Sánchez would be begging him for mercy. The thought heartened him, and his anger waned.

  “My client wants a million euros for his pain and suffering,” Mr. Cabrero announced.

  What pain? What suffering? Roderick thought, forcing himself not to laugh out loud.

  “Since the attack, I’ve had crippling headaches, constant neck pain and horrible nightmares.” Wincing, José massaged his temples with his fingertips. “I can’t stop reliving the beating in my mind, and every day it gets worse.”

  “Beating?” Roderick repeated, unable to bite his tongue. “You grabbed Geneviève, and she struck you once. That’s it. End of story. There was no beating, or ongoing assault.”

  “No, she struck me multiple times, and I have witnesses to corroborate my story.”

  Yeah, paid witnesses, who’ll lie through their teeth for the right price.

  José spoke in a somber voice, as if he was fighting back tears, but mischief glimmered in his eyes. “I want a million euros, and a public apology from Geneviève. It’s the least she can do after everything she’s put me through. I’m a good guy, and I didn’t deserve to be attacked.”

  Roderick leaned back in his chair. He had to give José credit; he was one hell of an actor.

  “I’ll speak to Ms. Harris and contact you by the end of the week.”

  Mr. Cabrero scratched his pencil-thin mustache. “That’s not good enough, Mr. Drake. My client is anxious to put this traumatic incident behind him and get on with his life...”

  No, Roderick thought, he’s anxious to get a settlement, and spend every last dime of it. He wanted to slap the smug, slick e
xpression off José’s face, but kept his hands to himself. If he lost his temper he’d probably be charged with assault, and the only thing worse than being hauled off to jail was going on a blind date with one of his mother’s friend’s daughters.

  Roderick tapped his pen on his notepad. His cell phone buzzed inside his pocket, but he ignored it. He guessed it was his boss on the line, calling for an update on the “Geneviève situation,” but Roderick didn’t have anything to report. José was a well-spoken kid, but Roderick wasn’t going to let the college student get the best of him. Not today, not ever.

  “You have forty-eight hours.” The lawyer gave a curt nod. “If we don’t hear from you by Friday, we’re proceeding with our legal case. I like Geneviève, and my daughters are huge fans of hers, but if she doesn’t pay up I will make her life a living hell. ¿Entendido?”

  Glaring at his nemesis, Roderick realized he’d pegged the attorney all wrong. His jovial demeanor was an act, a facade. He was a snake in an ill-fitted suit, and if Roderick wasn’t careful, the crafty Spaniard would eat him alive.

  “I’ll be in touch.” Reluctantly, Roderick shook hands with the scheming twosome, exited the conference room and marched out of the building. Putting on his sunglasses, he heaved a deep sigh. Outside, locals were gawking at the Ferrari like wide-eyed fans at the Madrid Auto Show. They were reclining on the hood, snapping pictures and selfies, but when he deactivated the alarm the group scattered.

  Roderick unbuttoned his suit jacket and loosened the knot in his tie. Anxious to speak to Geneviève, he slid inside the front seat and sped out of the parking lot as if his life depended on it. And it did. If he didn’t convince Geneviève to finish the European tour and reach a settlement with José Sánchez, he’d lose favor with his boss, and Roderick couldn’t stomach the thought of losing his fiancée and his promotion in the same year.

  His cell phone rang, and he grabbed it from the center console. Roderick didn’t recognize the number, and couldn’t think of anyone in Madrid who’d call him, but he pressed Talk, and put his iPhone to his ear. “Hello. Roderick Drake, attorney at law.”

  “Where do you get off telling Geneviève what to do? That’s my job, not yours!”

  Roderick cringed. Althea was yelling so loud his ears throbbed in pain. Moving his cell phone away from his ear, he listened to the momager rant and rave about his private conversation with Geneviève. “I came to Madrid to convince Geneviève to finish the tour and reach a settlement with José Sánchez, but after speaking with her at length yesterday, it’s obvious she’s unhappy, and I felt compelled to help her. She needs a break, Ms. Harris—”

  “Says who!” she shouted. “You don’t know what she needs. I do. I’m her momager, and I know what’s best for her. Got it?”

  Roderick wanted to argue, but knew it was pointless. He’d have more success trying to subdue a steer in a bullfighting ring than convince Ms. Harris that her daughter was on the brink of an emotional breakdown. Besides, he didn’t work for Althea. He worked for Geneviève, and he was going to do everything in his power to help her, whether her mother liked it or not. “My apologies, Ms. Harris. I didn’t mean to upset you, or—”

  “Did you reach an agreement with Mr. Sánchez? The kid is a nuisance, and I’m sick of seeing his face on TV, lying about my daughter attacking him.”

  Damn, Roderick thought, gripping the steering wheel. Is she ever going to let me finish a sentence? He wanted to turn up the radio, to drown out Althea’s voice, but he remembered what was at stake and kept his hands off the stereo system. “I haven’t reached a suitable agreement with Mr. Sánchez, but I’m working on it.”

  “Working on it?” she repeated, her disappointment evident in her tone. “What’s taking so long? I summoned you here to help us, not to sit around in your cushy hotel suite maxing and relaxing. Do your job, and resolve this matter today.”

  “Ms. Harris, I’m afraid that’s impossible. His settlement demands are outrageous, and I have to discuss the situation with Geneviève before I contact his attorney to renegotiate.”

  “Don’t bother. Give him what he wants. I’ll arrange the payment within twenty-four hours.”

  “But he’s demanding a million euros, and a public apology from Geneviève.”

  Althea scoffed. “He can have the money, but that’s it.”

  At a loss for words, Roderick couldn’t speak. He didn’t want to make an enemy out of Althea, but he couldn’t betray Geneviève’s trust. Not when she needed his guidance now more than ever. Her rags-to-riches story was inspiring, making her easy to root for, and he didn’t want her to get scammed. He liked her, respected her ambition and tenacity, and contrary to what her mother thought, he wanted the best for her. Furthermore, he was an attorney, not an errand boy, and there was nothing Althea could say to change his mind about settling the Sánchez case. “With all due respect, Ms. Harris, I work for Geneviève, not you.”

  “Like hell you do!” she quipped. “Gigi doesn’t do anything without my approval, and that will never change. I am the law, the be-all and end-all, and what I say goes. Now, contact Mr. Sánchez for his banking information or I will.”

  Unaffected by her brisk tone, Roderick stood his ground. “I need to speak to Geneviève first. It’s her career, her reputation, on the line and she has the right to make her own decisions.”

  “I never should have asked you to come to Madrid. You’re useless.”

  And you’re a control freak! Roderick thought, clutching his cell so hard his veins throbbed in his wrist. He wanted to set Althea straight, but before he could give her a piece of his mind, the line went dead.

  Chapter 5

  WiZink Center was one of the largest concert venues in Madrid, and as Roderick entered the darkened arena and strode down the aisle a voice filled the air, seizing his attention, and he sank into the closest chair. Geneviève was standing in the middle of the stage clutching a microphone, and the expression on her face was so intense, Roderick feared she was going to cry.

  The hair on the back of his neck shot up. Her vocals were flawless, her background singers moved in perfect sync and the mood was thrilling, more electrifying than a championship soccer game. Geneviève hit so many high notes, Roderick lost count. The tempo picked up, a blue haze drifted across the stage and a piquant aroma tickled his nose.

  Leaning forward in his chair, he bobbed his head and tapped his feet to the music. Roderick recognized her smash hit, “Savage,” and hummed the lyrics. The song was fun and catchy, and set to a thumping, infectious beat. The all-female band danced alongside Geneviève while deftly playing their instruments, and Roderick whistled when the group executed the splits. Dozens of pictures flashed on the overhead screen, and the candid, behind-the-scene images of the pop star made him feel closer to her.

  His stomach grumbled, cuing him it was time for lunch, but Roderick would rather starve than miss a second of Geneviève’s rehearsal. Her personality shone onstage, her undeniable wit and charm, and the more he watched the Philly native, the more impressed he was with her stage performance. Dressed in a tie-dye hoodie and denim jean shorts, Geneviève moved in such a provocative, seductive way, Roderick couldn’t take his eyes off her.

  A million thoughts raced through his mind, and each one was X-rated. Feeling guilty for fantasizing about Geneviève, he pressed his eyes shut to regain control. It didn’t help. The vision grew stronger, brighter.

  “This a pleasant surprise.”

  His eyes flew open. How long had Demi been watching him? Was it obvious he’d been fantasizing about Geneviève? Was the truth written all over his face? Straightening in his seat, he wore a polite smile. “Hi, Demi. It’s good to see you again.”

  “Enjoying the show?” she asked, batting her thick, extra-long eyelashes.

  “Immensely. Your sister’s an outstanding performer, and her vocals are out of this world.”

  “I know, ri
ght? I’ve been touring with Gigi for years, but she never ceases to amaze me.” Cocking her head, she studied him for a moment. “She likes you, you know.”

  “I bet she likes a lot of people.”

  “Excuse me?” Demi hitched a hand to her hip. “Are you calling my sister a ho?”

  “No. Never. She’s witty and down-to-earth and I bet she makes friends easily,” he explained.

  “That’s true,” she conceded. “But you’re the only guy she’s romantically interested in, and I think you two should hook up while you’re in town.”

  Roderick choked on his tongue. His heart was beating so loud it drowned out the music in the arena. Excited about the prospect of hooking up with his secret celebrity crush, his mouth dried. Rules were meant to be broken, and Roderick could think of a half dozen rules he’d like to break with Geneviève in Madrid. “She told you that?”

  “She didn’t have to. I’m her sister, her bestie, and it’s obvious Gigi wants you. She’s just too scared to admit it.”

  “But I’m her attorney—”

  “So what? You’re single, she’s single, and you’re in one of the most romantic cities in the world.” Demi squeezed his shoulder. “Make the most of this opportunity, Roderick.”

  “I don’t believe in mixing business with pleasure, and neither does my law firm.”

  “Okay,” she trilled, cocking her head to the right. “But don’t blame me when someone else wins Gigi’s heart, and you’re left out in the cold, wondering what went wrong.”

  Sweat drenched his palms. Thinking about Geneviève getting cozy with another man made his stomach churn. Was Demi right? Was the pop star worth breaking the rules for, or cut from the same cloth as his ex-fiancée?

  An idea sparked in his mind. “Demi, I need you to do me a favor,” he said, eyeing her Bedazzled iPhone. “Reach out to your social media followers and ask them to post any videos they have of Geneviève arriving at Madrid-Barajas International Airport last Sunday.”