Because of You

by Rochelle Alers

  “She is.”

  “Have you invited her to accompany you tonight?”

  Jordan nodded. “Yes.”

  “Good. I’m looking forward to meeting her.”

  “Her name is Aziza Fleming.”

  “What I did hear is that her brother is on same team as Brandt.”

  “They’re roomies whenever they play away games. Enough talk about my girlfriend. What’s bothering you, Grandpa?”

  “I’m still having a problem contacting the owners of the property at 118th and St. Nick. Official records show that the owner died some time ago, and his kids are handling his estate. Some want to sell and some don’t. Noah managed to make contact with the oldest boy, who said another lawyer has been talking to him about purchasing the properties for her client. He wouldn’t give me her name, but what I want is for you to talk to her and see if you can’t work out a deal.”

  “What kind of a deal, Grandpa?”

  “We’re talking about four buildings. I’m willing to purchase two and let them have the other two. What’s nice about these parcels is that there’re only ten units in each building. Some apartments can be reconfigured for a duplex and others into large studio units. The possibilities are endless.”

  “So, you want me to contact the executors of the estate and try to work a deal?” Wyatt nodded. “How high are you willing to go?” Wyatt quoted a figure that made Jordan lift his eyebrows. “You must really want those parcels.”

  “I do.”

  “Do you know who else is trying to get them?”

  The seconds ticked as the two men stared at each other. “RLH Realty.”

  Running a hand over his face, Jordan glared at his grandfather. “I’ve heard you say it enough, that ‘if you stir up old shit it will stink.’ Why after more than thirty years do you want to revive a feud with Raymond Humphries?”

  Wyatt’s eyes grew wide until Jordan could see the dark blue irises. “He doesn’t own Harlem.”

  “And you proved that when you bought those buildings on 114th.”

  Wyatt leaned forward. “You work in Harlem, Jordan. Every day you see changes going on around you. If India was the British Empire’s jewel in the crown, then Harlem is Manhattan’s jewel in the crown. I’d be willing give up half of Wainwright Developers Group’s parcels to own ten square blocks of prime Harlem real estate.”

  Jordan appeared deep in thought. “Do you think it’s wise for me to get involved in the negotiations with Humphries’s attorney?”

  “Who would you suggest?” Wyatt asked.

  “Noah.”

  “He’s not ready. He’s got the edge but not the experience to deal with Ray Humphries. And don’t mention your father. If left up to him, he’d give away the farm.”

  A scowl distorted Jordan’s pleasant features. “That’s enough about my father.” He’d always been protective of Edward Wainwright, who never was able to come into his own because of his tyrannical father and haughty wife.

  “Edward doesn’t need you to defend him, Jordan.”

  “And you should know better than to get in my face and put down my father. I respect him because he is who he is, and he makes no apologies for being a nice guy.”

  “Nice guys finish last.”

  “No, they don’t, Grandfather.”

  Grandfather. The title was like the flashing red lights and ringing bells at a railroad crossing. It was time for Wyatt to stop, or he would shatter their fragile truce. “I’m sorry about what I said about your father.”

  Jordan knew how difficult it was for Wyatt to apologize to anyone, even if he didn’t mean it. “Okay, I’ll contract RLH for you and see if I can talk to their attorney. I’m not going to promise whether I can get you what you want, but I will try.”

  Wyatt ran two fingers down the sharp crease in his navy-blue slacks. “You managed to take care of that hooligan shaking down my tenants.”

  Jordan wanted to remind Wyatt that he, too, was still a hooligan, only now he masqueraded as a businessman. “Kyle Chatham took care of that for you.”

  “Maybe I’ll get to meet him again and thank him myself.”

  “Maybe,” Jordan drawled, rising to his feet. “I have to go home and get dressed. I’ll see you later.”

  He walked out of the solarium, taking a back staircase to avoid running into anyone—his mother in particular—or else he wouldn’t make it home in time to be there for Aziza’s arrival. Jordan had arranged for Sergio to pick her up from her home and drive her down to the city. He hadn’t told her where they were going, just that it was a semiformal affair.

  Chapter 18

  The instant the formally dressed man greeted Jordan as “Master Jordan,” Aziza knew she’d been invited to a social event at his parents’ home. The memory of the museum fundraiser was still fresh in her mind. You are not what I’d expected my son to date. Christiane Wainwright hadn’t approved of her son’s girlfriend, but there wasn’t anything she could do about it.

  Aziza not only loved Jordan Wainwright, she was also in love with him. He’d suggested she marry him and her answer had been a resounding no. When or if he would ask her again, then her answer would be an unequivocal yes.

  It was hard to believe she’d only met him six weeks ago, and in two days they would embark on a romantic journey on a yacht to a destination wedding. She didn’t know why, but Aziza secretly wished it could be hers and Jordan’s wedding.

  They’d become a couple—in and out of bed. They understood postponed dates when working late because of an emergency with a client. They respected each other’s attorney-client privilege when they discussed cases without divulging names. Time spent together was quality time whether watching their favorite films, cooking together or challenging each other over arcade games or pool.

  Making love with each other had become a different experience each and every time they came together. Some times it would be slow, as if they’d wanted it to last forever, and other times it would be hard and fast, as if it would be the last time they would be together.

  Jordan’s hand tightened around Aziza’s waist. “Darling, this is Walter. Walter, Aziza Fleming.”

  The butler bowed to Aziza as if she were royalty. “Welcome, Miss Fleming.”

  She inclined her head. “Thank you, Mr. Walter.”

  He compressed his lips into a thin, hard line. “It’s just Walter.”

  Aziza didn’t want to tell the straitlaced man that she’d been raised to address older people as Miss or Mister. “Walter,” she said, acquiescing.

  Thousands of lights from the massive chandelier were reflected on the gleaming marble floor in the entrance hall as elegantly dressed men and women greeted one another with handshakes and air kisses. Meanwhile, a gluttonous fire roaring behind a fireplace decorative screen offset the cold air coming into the mansion whenever the front door opened.

  Jordan’s arm dropped and he took Aziza’s hand. “Come with me.”

  “Where are we going?” she whispered as they wove their way through the crowd, some who were waiting to board an elevator.

  “I’m taking you to my apartment.”

  He led her up the staircase to the second floor, bumping into Noah as he walked to his suite. “Hey, brother. I want you to meet someone.”

  Noah Wainwright stared at Aziza for a long moment, then a slow, sensual smile crossed his handsome face. “That’s what I’m talking about.” He extended his hand. “No-wah.”

  Aziza laughed at the pronunciation of his name. Noah Wainwright was tall, blond and tanned with sparkling blue eyes. “My pleasure, Noah. Aziza Fleming.”

  He took her hand, kissing her fingers one by one. “Do you have a sister or a cousin who looks like you? I’ll even take a niece but only if she’s legal,” he added with a wolfish grin.

  “That’s enough, Noah,” Jordan warned softly.

  Noah dropped Aziza’s hand as if it were a venomous reptile. “No foul, brother.” He winked at his brother’s date. “Save me a dance.” He slappe
d Jordan on the shoulder and he whistled softly as he walked down the hallway to the staircase.

  “You have to forgive Noah,” Jordan said, leading Aziza into his suite. “He’s always in party mode. It’s going to take a while before he settles down.”

  “How old is he?”

  “Twenty-three.”

  “At twenty-three he’s supposed to be in party mode, Jordan. Weren’t you hanging loose at that age?”

  “No. I was in law school and quite serious.”

  Aziza followed Jordan into an exquisitely furnished living/dining room. The enormity of who she was dating hit her for the first time. Jordan Wainwright had grown up with things most people fantasized about: a mansion, butler and servants. It wasn’t about living from paycheck to paycheck but about having everything at one’s disposal.

  She walked over to the tall windows, peering through the drapes at the lights along the avenue throughout Central Park. “How old were you before you had your own apartment?” she asked when she felt the heat from his body after he came up behind her.

  “Ten.”

  “Why so young?”

  “I was ten when Noah was born, so it was his turn to occupy what everyone referred to as the nursery. Actually, it is a large bedroom that’s accessible through my parents’ apartment. He and Rhett shared the room until Chanel came along.”

  “Everyone has his or her own apartment?”

  Resting his hands on Aziza’s shoulders, Jordan turned her to face him. He always liked when she wore heels. “Yes. This side of the house is restricted to the family. My grandfather has the entire first floor, my brother and I the second floor, my parents and Chanel have the third floor and the fourth is set aside for houseguests.” He unbuttoned her coat, sliding it off her shoulders. The one-shoulder smoky-gray silk dress ending at her knees and matching stilettos were certain to garner a lot of attention. “You have two options tonight.”

  “What are they?”

  His gaze was fixed on the soft magenta color on her lush mouth. “If you get tired you can come up here and rest.”

  She nodded, forcing a smile. There was no way she was going to sleep with Jordan under his parents’ roof unless they were married. She didn’t care what he’d done in the past with his other girlfriends, but that wasn’t going to happen with her.

  “I’ll think about it.”

  Jordan lowered his head and kissed the hair she’d had her stylist pin up in a hairdo reminiscent of the one Michelle Obama had worn for her husband’s inaugural ball. “I said rest, not sleep with me. I’ve never slept here with a woman.”

  Aziza smiled. He’d read her mind. “What about your brothers?”

  “I plead the Fifth.”

  Reaching up, she straightened the dark gray silk tie. Tonight he’d worn an updated tuxedo, stark white shirt with a spread collar and a Windsor knotted tie. Instead of the dress patent leather slip-ons, he’d substituted a pair of imported Italian slip-ons. Her gaze swept over his cropped black hair and clean-shaven face. A shiver of awareness snaked its way throughout her body when she saw the glint of lust in his eyes. It’d been more than a week since they’d last made love, and she wanted him as much as he wanted her.

  “That’s better.”

  Extending his arm, Jordan waited for her to place her hand in the crook of his elbow, then escorted her out of the suite and down the hallway to a door that connected one wing of the mansion to the other.

  The smaller of the two ballrooms, which could easily accommodate one hundred, was so brightly lit it could have been twelve noon; dozens of waitstaff moved silently, filling water goblets. Banquet-style tabletops dressed in white satin showcased the votives and vases filled with orange orchids placed atop mirrors; the chairs were draped in orange organza and tied with matching silk ribbon.

  Jordan rested a hand over the one tucked into his elbow. “Come, baby. I want to introduce you to my grandfather.”

  Aziza knew what Jordan would look like in fifty years. The infamous Wyatt Wainwright was tall and straight, and his shockingly blue eyes looked through instead of at her. Tilting her chin, she narrowed her gaze. To say he was intimidating was putting it mildly, but after Kenneth Moore, no man would ever intimidate her again.

  Wyatt’s eyebrows flickered as he stared at the woman beside his grandson. “So, you’re the one who has my grandson’s heart. I hope you know how lucky you are.” Those standing close enough to overhear Wyatt gasped.

  “I beg to differ with you, Mr. Wainwright,” Aziza said quietly.

  “How’s that?”

  “I’d like to think Jordan and I are very lucky to have met each other.” She extended a manicured hand. “Happy birthday.”

  Wyatt stared at the slender groomed hand, then took it in his much larger callused one. “You don’t scare easily, do you?”

  “No. In fact, there aren’t too many things that frighten me.”

  Wyatt gave her a rare smile. “Good for you. Come with me. You can have her back, Jordan,” he said when his grandson frowned at him. “I just want to talk to Aziza.”

  There wasn’t much Jordan could do but stare at Aziza as Wyatt led her across the ballroom and out the door. If it had been any woman but Aziza, he knew she would’ve either shrunk or run away from his grandfather.

  “Is that your girlfriend with Grandpa?”

  He turned to find Rhett with Amelia. If he’d invited her to Christmas dinner with his family and his grandfather’s birthday party, then it was apparent he was serious about her. “Yes.”

  Rhett pounded his shoulder. “Nice going, big brother. She’s smokin’ hot!”

  “Rhett!” Amelia’s face turned beet red.

  Jordan grasped his brother’s arm, pulling him close. “Don’t ever disrespect your girlfriend like that again,” he whispered in his ear. Staring over Rhett’s head, he smiled at Amelia. “You look lovely tonight, Amelia.”

  A blush replaced mortification. “Thank you, Jordan.”

  “You’re welcome, Amelia.”

  Jordan’s mouth was smiling, but his eyes weren’t. His mother had called him on every social faux pas he’d ever made, yet Noah and Rhett broke all the rules of social protocol with impunity. He made a mental note to talk to his brothers about their treatment of women because he didn’t want either of them to wind up like Kenneth Moore when they uttered inappropriate sexual innuendos. Brothers notwithstanding, he wouldn’t make a move to defend them.

  Jordan approached his father, who stood with a group of men, pantomiming a golf swing. Edward Wainwright had officially retired as president of the real estate conglomerate but was available as a consultant. He was currently training Noah to eventually take over as president and CEO.

  Edward looked up, excused himself and gave Jordan a rough embrace. “I’m glad you could make it.”

  He knew his father was referring to the past two years when he hadn’t attended Wyatt’s birthday celebrations. “I promised Grandpa I would.”

  Edward scanned the crowd. “Where is your grandfather?”

  Jordan noticed there was less gold and more silver in Edward’s hair. However, at fifty-five, he still was a very attractive man. “He’s giving Aziza the third degree, and she’s probably giving him the business.”

  “You really like this girl, don’t you?”

  “No, Dad, I don’t like her. I’m in love with her.”

  Edward smothered a groan. “Why am I looking at a rerun of my life, Jordan?”

  “That’s where you’re wrong, Dad. I would never permit anyone to tell me who I can fall in love with or marry.”

  “But I was already engaged to Christiane—”

  “I understand that,” Jordan interrupted. “But you could’ve ended the engagement if you’d fallen in love with another woman.”

  Edward’s expression changed, becoming a mask of stone. “We’ve debated this ad nauseam, and I’m through with it, Jordan. The only thing I’m going to say to you is live your life however you want. You’re thirty-three,
an attorney and independently wealthy. When I was faced with a similar decision, I was twenty-two, a recent college grad and completely dependent upon my father for financial support. Sure, I could’ve moved out and gotten a job, but without work experience there would’ve been no way I could’ve earned enough to rent a decent apartment and take care of a wife and child. I still had another three years before I would come into my trust.

  “I was faced with the decision as to whether I was willing to give up a lifestyle I’d known all my life to live in a walk-up where I’d have to step over garbage and winos before I’d get to my apartment. Am I an elitist? Yes. But I’m also a realist, Jordan. I know who I am and what I want and don’t want.”

  “What do you want for me?” Jordan asked his father.

  Edward accepted a glass of champagne from a passing waiter, handed the flute to Jordan, then took one for himself. “I want you to be happy.”

  “I am happy.”

  Edward smiled—a sad smile that made him look as if he’d wanted to cry. “Are you complete, son?”

  It took Jordan a full minute before he realized what his father was asking. He and his father hadn’t had the requisite father-son talks like the boys with whom he’d attended school. Edward Wainwright had always been too involved with trying to please his father and get his approval to pay much attention to his firstborn.

  The one time Jordan had sought out his father was after he’d discovered the girl he’d been sleeping with was also sleeping with one of his fraternity brothers. Edward’s advice had been, “if she doesn’t complete you, then she’s not worth the angst.” It was years later, after he’d discovered the circumstances behind his birth, that Jordan had realized why Edward Wainwright appeared indifferent to Christiane Johnston Wainwright’s constant fault-finding. She did not complete him. Jordan’s biological mother did.

  “No, Dad, and I won’t be complete until Zee becomes a part of my future.”

  Edward put the flute to his mouth, eyes narrowing as he peered over the rim. “Here comes your future right now. And she doesn’t look the worse for wear after dealing with your grandfather.”