Setting aside his book and magnifying glass, Cleveland nodded at the covered cake dish Lena had placed on the table. “What you got there?”
“Oh, just a little something I whipped up for you this morning.” With exaggerated casualness she removed the lid.
Her grandfather’s face lit up like fireworks launched into a night sky. “German chocolate cake! My favorite!”
Lena grinned. “I know.”
On cue, a staff member appeared with the cake knife and plates Lena had requested when she first arrived.
“Sherry, look what my baby girl brought me,” Cleveland bragged to the smiling woman. “Am I the luckiest man in the world or what?”
“You sure are, Mr. Morrison. Spoiled rotten, too,” Sherry teased, winking at Lena.
She laughed, cutting into the cake. “I’m just returning the favor. Poppa gave me and my sister everything we wanted when we were growing up. He could never say no, and we took full advantage of that.”
Cleveland guffawed at the notion of being manipulated in any way by the two granddaughters he and his wife had raised following their mother’s death. Because their biological father had been nothing more than a sperm donor, Cleveland was the only father Lena and her younger sister, Morgan, had ever known. They owed him everything.
After Lena had cut slices of cake for herself, Cleveland and Sherry, her grandfather sent the woman back inside to share the rest of the dessert with the other residents. Since Lena frequently brought him goodies, he didn’t mind sharing—on most days anyway.
By the time Lena reached for her fork, he’d already devoured half of his piece. She enjoyed watching him eat, because she knew how hard he’d worked in rehab to regain the ability to feed himself after the stroke. His ultimate goal was to walk again, grim prognosis be damned.
“I sure do love it when you make your grandma’s German chocolate cake. It always tastes just like hers, God rest her sainted soul.”
Lena smiled softly. “All those years of watching her in the kitchen definitely paid off.”
Cleveland grinned. “As I always say, baby girl, you’re gonna make some lucky man an excellent wife one day.”
Inexplicably, Lena thought of Roderick Brand. Of course, thinking about him only forced her to remember what they’d done the night before, which was the last thing she needed to be thinking about while sitting across from her eighty-year-old grandfather, who probably believed she was still a virgin.
As her face heated with renewed shame, she averted her gaze to stare out across the wide expanse of lawn that sloped down to the lake. The bright afternoon sun lit a shimmering path across the water. Lena could use a good, cold swim right about now.
“How’s work?” her grandfather asked.
Lena cut into her cake. “Work’s good.”
By day she was a grant writer for a private liberal arts college in Evanston. Her grandfather had no idea that she moonlighted as an escort, and she intended to keep it that way.
“Got any major projects in the works?”
“Sure do.” Lena told him about the million-dollar grant proposal she’d recently submitted on behalf of the college’s performing arts center. “This could be the largest grant we’ve ever received,” she explained.
“Really?” Cleveland arched two snowy eyebrows. “Sounds like you’ve got a lot riding on your shoulders.”
“You could say that. Ever since the economy tanked, endowments at colleges and universities across the country have practically dried up. We really need the research funds. Not to mention that securing this grant will make me a shoo-in for a promotion.”
“That’s wonderful, sweetheart,” Cleveland said warmly. “As hard as you work, you definitely deserve a promotion. But I’m just wondering…” He trailed off, looking thoughtful as he scratched his jaw.
Lena ate a bite of cake. “Wondering what?”
“Truth be told, baby girl, I’ve been a little worried about you.”
“You have?” Uh-oh. “Why?”
“Well, you already work such long hours. If you get a promotion, that means even more responsibility and longer hours. Am I right?”
“More than likely,” Lena admitted.
Cleveland frowned. “Doesn’t seem like you have much time for a social life.”
“I do,” she assured him. It wasn’t exactly a lie. If hobnobbing with the rich and powerful at glitzy yacht parties didn’t qualify as having a social life, what did?
Her grandfather looked skeptical. “Visiting your crippled grandpa in a nursing home every week doesn’t count.”
Lena gave him a reproving look. “Stop calling yourself crippled. And aren’t I always telling you about new restaurants and museums I’ve visited?”
“Alone,” he pointed out.
She shrugged. “I like my own company.”
“You’re wonderful company,” her grandfather agreed. “You know I always look forward to spending time with you. I just worry that you’re not getting out there enough, meeting other young folks like yourself. Your sister’s always talking about the new man in her life.” He peered at Lena over the rim of his bifocals. “When was the last time you went on a date?”
She choked out a laugh. “Poppa!”
“What? It’s a fair question.”
She smiled ruefully. “No offense, Poppa, but I don’t exactly feel comfortable discussing my, uh, love life with you.”
Truthfully, there wasn’t much to discuss. Her love life was nonexistent because she hadn’t figured out a way to balance being a professional escort and somebody’s girlfriend. She knew that very few men would understand or accept her decision to work as an escort, and giving it up wasn’t an option for her as her grandfather’s sole support. Nor was she willing to keep her side gig a secret from any man she was dating. She had friends who sneaked around behind their boyfriends’ backs and lied to them all the time. She didn’t want that kind of relationship, and judging by her girlfriends’ constant complaints, she wasn’t missing much by remaining single. But a girl had needs, so for the past three years she’d enjoyed brief but satisfying flings with guys who were as commitment-phobic as she was.
But after one night with Roderick Brand, she realized how sexually deprived she’d been.
“I just want to make sure that your job doesn’t become your life,” her grandfather was saying.
Incredulous, Lena shook her head at him. “I can’t believe I’m hearing this from the man who devoted fifty years of his life to the Los Angeles Metropolitan Transit Authority, working tirelessly to support his family and put three dependents—me, Morgan and our mother—through college. You’re going to lecture me about working too hard?”
“It’s not the same thing,” Cleveland grumbled. “You’re too young and beautiful to be a workaholic, Lena.”
“I’m not a workaholic. Believe me, I have a life outside of the college.” If only you knew!
Her grandfather studied her in shrewd silence a moment longer, then grunted. “As long as you’re happy—”
“I am.”
“Then that’s the most important thing.” He hesitated, looking as though he wanted to say more.
Lena waited.
“You know I always worry about how you can afford to put me up in this Shangri-la. I know it ain’t cheap—”
She frowned. “Poppa—”
He held up a hand, forestalling her protest. “All I was going to say is that maybe a promotion’s not such a bad thing. You know, if it makes it easier for you to…take care of me.”
A lump rose in Lena’s throat. He was thanking her without actually saying the words, because she’d rebuffed him every time he’d tried to express his gratitude in the past.
Smiling tenderly, she said, “When I get the promotion, Poppa, I’m taking you to dinner and a show to celebrate.”
He winked at her. “It’s a date.” His gaze strayed to her slice of cake, which she’d barely touched. “Are you gonna eat that or stare at it?”
&
nbsp; Laughing, Lena slid her plate across the table. “Buon appetito.”
Chapter Five
Lena’s cell phone rang as she stepped through the front door of her downtown Chicago condo. She dug the phone out of her handbag and answered, “Hello?”
“Hello, there,” Zandra Kennedy’s smooth, friendly voice greeted her. “Did I catch you at a bad time?”
“Not at all. I just got back from visiting my grandfather.”
“How’s he doing?”
“He’s doing great,” Lena replied, setting her handbag on the foyer table and stepping out of her stiletto boots. “When I left, he and his friend Abraham were about to play chess. I warned the staff to be on standby in case they get into one of their blood-pressure-raising arguments.”
Zandra chuckled. “Isn’t Abraham the feisty old Jewish guy who always begs you to sing ‘Stormy Weather,’ then critiques your performance by pointing out which notes you should hold longer to sound more like Lena Horne?”
Lena laughed. “That’s him.”
Thanks to her grandfather, she’d been named after the late, legendary songstress and had grown up listening to her music and watching her films. When she was a little girl, she’d enjoyed donning a wig and regaling her grandparents with her off-key but heartfelt rendition of “Stormy Weather.” Though her singing had improved over the years, she now limited her “performances” to the annual holiday party at the retirement home, where most of the attendees wore hearing aids anyway.
“I’m glad your grandfather’s doing well,” Zandra said warmly. “I know how much you worry about him.”
Lena smiled. “No more than he worries about me.”
As she stepped down into the living room, her feet sank into plush carpeting. Carpeted floors had been a requirement when she’d first begun her apartment search after moving to Chicago. Though she appreciated her condo’s spacious rooms, high ceilings and scenic view of the downtown skyline, she couldn’t have survived her first Chicago winter without carpeted floors, as well as a fireplace and heated parking.
“So,” Zandra said, getting to the reason for her call, “how’d things go with Roderick last night?”
Lena gulped hard, dropping weakly onto the sofa. She’d hoped to put off talking to Zandra for as long as possible. But she should have known better. Zandra had been unusually excited when she’d contacted Lena about going out with Roderick. She’d been so eager to reach Lena that she’d even broken protocol by calling her at work after leaving two messages on her cell phone. Lena had chalked up Zandra’s urgent behavior to Roderick’s billionaire status, though he certainly wasn’t the agency’s first billionaire client, nor would he be the last.
“Lena?” Zandra prompted. “Are you still there?”
“Yes, I’m here,” Lena said, striving for a normal tone. “Things went well last night.”
“Really?”
“Really. We, uh, had a great time.”
“That’s wonderful!” Zandra exclaimed. “I knew you and Roderick would hit it off!”
You don’t know the half of it, Lena thought with a grimace.
“I told him you’d be perfect for him,” Zandra crowed.
“Yeah, he may have mentioned that.”
“Clearly I was right.” Zandra sounded way too pleased with herself.
Lena swallowed. If she weren’t such a damn coward, she’d tell Zandra the truth about what she and Roderick had done. After all, she’d violated the agency’s policy—again—by having sex with him. Her lack of self-control could cost Zandra her business, her reputation—hell, her freedom—if the agency ever came under investigation for prostitution. She owed Zandra the truth, no matter the repercussions.
Plucking a speck of lint off her jeans, Lena asked very casually, “So, um, you haven’t spoken to Roderick?”
“Not yet. He left a message for me this morning, said he was on his way to Japan on business but he’d be in touch soon.”
“Oh.” Lena’s stomach knotted. She wondered if Roderick would complain to Zandra about her refusal to see him again. But once Zandra learned what had happened between them, she’d understand why Lena had taken that stance.
“I assume he’s going to Japan to close the deal with Ichiro Kawamoto, which means things must have gone even better than I expected last night.” Zandra chuckled with satisfaction. “He owes me big-time.”
Lena smiled weakly. “How well do you know Roderick?”
There was a pregnant pause. “We know each other pretty well.”
Lena felt a sudden stab of jealousy at the realization that Zandra and Roderick may have been lovers. And why not? Zandra was a smart, gorgeous woman who epitomized confidence, sensuality and glamour. Lena had watched her work a room, batting her long eyelashes and flashing a sultry smile that reduced grown men to drooling adolescents. Many of her clients had initially contacted the agency hoping to score a date with her.
“It’s not like that,” Zandra said wryly.
“What?” Lena pretended not to know what she was talking about.
“Roderick and I have known each other for over twenty years. We grew up together on the South Side, went to the same schools, hung out at the same places. But we’ve never been more than just friends.”
Lena frowned. “So you’ve never—”
“Fucked him?” Zandra sighed. “Can’t say I’ve ever had the pleasure.”
“Oh.” Lena didn’t know whether to be relieved or baffled.
Zandra chuckled dryly. “Now you’re probably wondering what the hell’s wrong with me. Believe me, I’m not blind or comatose. I know how unbelievably hot Roderick is. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve been approached by friends and relatives who wanted me to fix them up with him. And they’ve always wondered the same thing about me and Roderick. It’s hard for them to believe that we’ve never so much as kissed, but it’s true. We’ve always been more like brother and sister than anything else. I cherish his friendship, and I’d never do anything to jeopardize it.”
Lena smiled. “He’s very lucky to have you in his life.”
“That’s what I keep telling him.” Zandra laughed.
Lena couldn’t imagine having a platonic relationship with a man like Roderick Brand. Every time he just glanced her way, she’d want to get sweaty and naked. But if Zandra claimed that they were just friends, she’d have to take her word for it. Not that it really mattered. Roderick was nothing more to Lena than a one-night stand. Sure, the sex had been phenomenal. Out of this world. But that’s all it had been. Sex. Exhilarating but meaningless sex.
Or so she kept telling herself.
“When Roderick mentioned a party he was throwing for Ichiro Kawamoto,” Zandra explained, “I suggested that he hire one of my escorts to be his date for the evening. He looked at me like I’d started speaking in tongues. The idea of paying for a companion was a foreign concept to him.”
“No surprise there,” Lena muttered. Roderick probably couldn’t take two steps without tripping over females trying to lure him into bed. Women would pay him to take them out on a date.
Zandra continued, “I told him that none of the women he normally dates would impress Ichiro Kawamoto the way one of my girls would—specifically, you. He was still skeptical, so I started telling him about you. I could tell he was impressed by your educational background; your fluency in Japanese sealed the deal for him. When he asked to see your photo, I refused to show it to him. I knew you’d knock his socks off, so I just told him to trust me. I’m so glad he did.”
Speak for yourself, Lena thought darkly.
“So,” Zandra said, drawing out the word, “are you going to see him again?”
Lena swallowed hard. “No.”
“No?” Zandra sounded surprised.
“No. I’m not.”
In the ensuing silence, Lena could hear Zandra’s unspoken questions, could hear the wheels turning in her mind. She was speculating about whether Lena had slept with Roderick, but she was reluctant to come
right out and ask. Probably because she didn’t want to know.
“Are you sure you don’t want to see him again?” she gently probed. “If he asks for—”
Lena closed her eyes. “I can’t.”
“Oh.” A lengthy pause. “I see.”
Lena waited tensely.
Zandra heaved a deep, frustrated breath. “Damn it, Lena.”
Guilt assailed her at once. “I’m so sorry, Zandra. I don’t know what the hell I was thinking.”
“You obviously weren’t,” Zandra muttered.
Lena didn’t argue. She couldn’t.
“I don’t have to tell you what a bad position you’re putting me in,” Zandra continued. “The agency means everything to me. I can’t afford to lose it over some sex scandal.”
“I know.” Lena felt like shit for betraying Zandra’s trust. Her guilt was compounded by the fact that Zandra was the one who’d come to her rescue three years ago when she’d needed extra money to put her grandfather in a retirement home.
They’d met at a social function hosted by the national chapter of their sorority. After explaining that she owned and operated an upscale escort agency, Zandra had asked Lena whether she’d ever considered working as a paid companion.
“Can’t say that I have,” Lena had replied.
“You should,” Zandra told her. “With your looks, poise and level of education, wealthy men would pay top dollar for the pleasure of your company. I can guarantee that you’d make a killing if you worked for me.”
If the conversation had occurred at any other time, Lena wouldn’t have given Zandra’s proposition a second thought. But finding another source of income had been weighing on her mind lately. So she was undeniably intrigued by the idea of “making a killing” in any capacity.
Sensing her receptiveness, Zandra passed her a glossy business card. “Give me a call. I’d love to have you on board.”
Lena did call her. And true to Zandra’s word, she did make a killing as one of the agency’s top escorts. Working for Zandra, she made more in one month than she earned as a grant writer for an entire year. Although she’d hate to forfeit the extra income, she wouldn’t blame Zandra for considering her too much of a risk.
Whatever You Like Page 4
