by Pamela Yaye
“Congratulations, Ms. Nichols. I hope you make the most of this life-changing opportunity...”
Sharleen blinked and surfaced from her thoughts. “I’m the new vice president of Pathways Center?”
Mrs. Fontaine laughed. “Yes, you are. You’re the perfect person for the job, and I’m thrilled you’re going to be my right hand.”
“This is bullshit! I deserve to be VP.” Brad jabbed a finger at his chest. “I’ve been at this center for nine years, and no one works harder than I do.”
“Brad, calm down,” Mrs. Fontaine said. “You’re yelling.”
“Sharleen can’t be vice president,” he continued, his voice deafening. “She’s screwing her clients for money, and God knows what else.”
“That’s a lie, and you know it!” Sharleen met his gaze, refused to back down. Brad was a jerk, nothing more than a bully in an Armani suit, and she’d had enough of his self-righteous behavior. “You have no right to judge me. You’re an embarrassment to this profession, and you give life coaches everywhere a bad name.”
Brad laughed off her comment. “My clients would beg to differ.”
Yeah, probably because you’re blackmailing them!
“Check out FameAndFortune.com,” he said, pointing at Mrs. Fontaine’s computer. “There are pictures of Sharleen and Emilio Morretti all over the internet. Kissing in front of her house, making out in his Escalade, draped all over each other in the airport VIP lounge...”
Sharleen frowned and cocked her head to the side. What’s Brad talking about? There were no pictures of me and Emilio at the airport. Unless... Realization dawned, and her eyes widened in surprise. The truth was staring her right in the face. She didn’t want to believe it, but it was Brad—not Francesca—who’d set her up to fall. “You’ve been spying on me!” she raged, anger pounding furiously through her veins. All the pieces of the jigsaw puzzle fell into place, and the devilish grin on Brad’s face confirmed her suspicions. “You took those pictures and sold them to humiliate me!”
“You humiliated yourself, toots, so don’t blame me for your problems.”
Mrs. Fontaine raised a hand to silence them, then addressed Brad seconds later. “I value the contributions you’ve made to Pathways, and I admire your drive and tenacity, but my decision is final. If you’d like to discuss this matter further, I can meet with you when I return from my book tour next—”
“Go home, save your marriage and forget about that stupid book tour,” Brad snapped, rudely cutting her off. “I can run the center in your absence.”
“Excuse me?” Mrs. Fontaine narrowed her eyes and gripped the arms of her leather chair.
“Jules is running around with other women, and you’re too busy promoting your new book to notice.” Brad shook his head as if he were admonishing a child. “He practically lives at the strip club. In fact, he’s at Club Onyx so much the owner gave him his own parking spot!”
Mrs. Fontaine stood and pointed at the door. “Brad, that’s enough. Please leave.”
“With pleasure, and I’ll be taking my celebrity contacts with me.”
Sharleen watched him swagger out of the office and was relieved to see him go. He was a loose cannon, and the center was better off without him. At least the pictures of Jocelyn—and the other women he’d been blackmailing—had been destroyed when he spilled coffee on his iPhone. But Sharleen wondered if Brad had any other tricks up his sleeve. He was out for revenge, but she wasn’t going down without a fight.
“I’m sorry Brad lashed out at you, but he’s going through a difficult time right now.”
“Yes, I can imagine. Having to program his new iPhone must be extremely stressful.”
Mrs. Fontaine gestured to the chair in front of her desk. Sharleen didn’t want to hear about what a great life coach Brad was, or about all the big names he’d signed over the years, but she sat down and crossed her legs. She was curious about the accusations Brad had made about Mrs. Fontaine’s husband, Jules, but didn’t dare ask the questions in her mind. It was none of her business, and she didn’t want to upset her boss.
“Brad’s wife walked out on him last year and took their three young sons with her. He hasn’t seen his boys in months, and it’s killing him inside. He’s angry at the world right now, and he’s taking his frustration out on everyone around him, especially women. I’m not making excuses for his behavior, but I do empathize with him.”
“I had no idea Brad was having personal problems, or that he had a wife and kids, but there’s no excuse for his behavior.”
“You’re right, and I’m working with the HR department to investigate the claims that have been brought to my attention,” she explained. “I’m disappointed with the choices Brad’s made, but he’s worked at Pathways since day one, and I feel compelled to help him find his children. They’re sweet little boys who need their father.”
Though she was angry at Brad for harassing Jocelyn, and spying on her, Sharleen understood why Mrs. Fontaine wanted to help him.
“By any chance, have you met Emilio’s brother Immanuel Morretti?”
“No, I haven’t,” Sharleen said. “They’ve been estranged from each other for years. Why?”
“Apparently, he’s one of the best private investigators in the business, and his agency, Mastermind Operations, recently opened offices in Atlanta. You’re fooling around with his kid brother, so I figured you could give me some additional information on him.”
Sharleen dropped her gaze to her lap. She couldn’t talk about Emilio without tearing up, and she knew if she didn’t change the subject she’d burst into tears. “Why did you give me the VP position?” she asked, her curiosity getting the best of her. “What was the deciding factor?”
“You did something no one else has ever done, and I was impressed with your ingenuity.”
Sharleen thought for a moment, tried to figure out what her boss was referring to, but came up empty. “What did I do?”
“You orchestrated the perfect publicity stunt, and now my phone is ringing off the hook!”
It wasn’t a publicity stunt. I love Emilio with all my heart, and I want to marry him.
“I have ten thousand new Twitter followers, and online searches for Pathways Center have surged by one hundred percent!” Her eyes were bright with excitement. “I told you to create more buzz and attract more clients, and you delivered big-time.”
“My feelings for Emilio are real. It’s not something I played up for the cameras,” Sharleen said. “Emilio’s not the bad-boy athlete the blogs make him out to be. He’s sensitive and compassionate, and I love spending time with him.”
Mrs. Fontaine’s eyebrows rose and fell quickly. “I bet you do. One of his ex-lovers gave a tell-all interview with Channel 6 News this morning, and she said he’s very well-endowed.”
Too shocked to speak, she stared at her boss.
“I understand. Your hormones got the best of you, but don’t do anything stupid like fall in love. It doesn’t last.” Mrs. Fontaine’s voice carried a bitter edge, and a scowl twisted her lips. “Emilio’s a superstar athlete who’ll never be faithful to you.”
Sharleen remained silent, stunned. Her body was weary, desperate for sleep, and thinking about her troubled relationship only made her feel worse.
“You have what it takes to go far in this business, and I’d hate for you to throw it all away for a guy who’ll never commit to you.”
A headache pounded in her temples, and her throat closed up. Something Emilio had said weeks earlier, during one of their morning coaching sessions, came back to mind, and Sharleen smiled despite the overwhelming weight of her sadness.
“I never wanted a family for fear of losing them one day, but then I met you and now it’s all I think about,” he’d said, pulling her into his arms and brushing his lips softly against hers. “You’re the
best thing that’s ever happened to me.”
The memory brought her comfort, filled her with hope. Sharleen admired Mrs. Fontaine and thought she was a smart businesswoman, but she was wrong about Emilio. They were soul mates, not just sex buddies, and he’d never do anything to hurt her.
“I hope you have more ideas on how to attract new clients, because our LA clinic opens next month, and the more publicity the better.”
“I became a life coach to help people transform their lives, not to become famous. If you can’t respect that, I’ll have no choice but to resign.”
Mrs. Fontaine’s eyes filled with fear, and the smile slid off her face. “Y-you don’t mean that,” she stammered, fussing with her scarf.
“Yes, I do. I can always freelance or start my own clinic right here in Atlanta...”
“You wouldn’t!”
Sharleen cocked her head to the right. “Just watch me.”
“I want us to be partners, not adversaries—”
“Then make me an offer I can’t refuse.”
The silence was deafening, and several seconds ticked off the wall clock.
“I’ll increase your salary by ten percent and give you six weeks’ paid vacation...” Mrs. Fontaine began.
“And you’ll rehire Jocelyn,” Sharleen said. “Jocelyn deserves her old job back, and that’s one issue I won’t concede on.”
Mrs. Fontaine sat back in her chair, then slowly nodded her head. “It’s a deal.”
The women shook hands and shared a smile.
“To celebrate your promotion I’ve arranged a small soiree tonight at Dolce Vita at six o’clock,” Mrs. Fontaine explained. “You’re more than welcome to invite Emilio, and your family members as well.”
Sharleen struggled with her words. She was thrilled about her promotion and wanted to celebrate with her friends and colleagues at her favorite restaurant, but she wanted to see Emilio before he left for Milan. Should I go to my promotion party or Emilio’s estate? It was the biggest decision of Sharleen’s life, and she didn’t know what to do.
Chapter 19
“Are you sure you want to do this?”
Emilio scowled at his silver-haired pit-crew chief, wishing the loud Irishman would leave him alone. Lockland Walsh was working his last nerve, and he was sick of his questions. On Fridays the Atlanta Motor Speedway was filled with race-car fans of all ages desperate for a behind-the-scenes view of America’s most dangerous and thrilling sport, and Emilio wanted to give the cheering spectators a good show. “I’m here, aren’t I?”
“Kill the attitude. I’m not in the mood for your crap today.” Lockland limped around the car, inspecting the tires, stress lines wrinkling his forehead. “Have you talked to your girl yet?”
“What does that have to do with me going for a spin around the track?”
“You’re kidding, right? You’ve been off this week, and you know it. You clipped a visitor tour bus on Monday afternoon, and yesterday you drove over my foot.”
Emilio dropped his gaze to the ground, so Lockland couldn’t see the guilt in his eyes. He’d apologized and bought his pit-crew boss dinner to make amends, but he still felt horrible for hurting the grandfather of six. “It was an honest mistake,” he mumbled, for lack of anything better to say. “It could happen to anybody.”
“Get your head in the game,” Lockland said, leveling a finger at him. “Focus.”
Emilio nodded and tugged on his leather gloves. “I know what I’m doing. I got this.”
“You better, or you’ll end up in a body cast!”
The other guys in his pit crew snickered.
Hearing whistles and cheers, Emilio glanced over his shoulder. Hundreds of people were standing against the metal fence, waving signs bearing his name and image. If he weren’t in such a funk, he would have signed autographs for the children. He’d tossed and turned all night, reliving his argument with Sharleen, unable to put his sister’s accusations out of his mind.
“I don’t have all day. Get in and get going.” Lockland clapped him hard on the shoulder and steered him over to the track. “Three laps should suffice.”
Emilio put on his helmet and slid inside his custom-made Ferrari. He was going to miss using it for practice, but now that he had a new and improved race car he didn’t need it anymore. Thankfully, Antwan had found a buyer, and Emilio could pay off his tax bill and put the whole ugly incident with the IRS behind him.
“Take it nice and easy. The media hounds are out here again today, looking for a story, so don’t do anything crazy,” he warned, his gaze darting around the field. “Come back in one piece.”
Lockland tapped the hood of the car, signaling the track was clear, and Emilio took off down the strip like a rocket. He switched gears, and as his speed climbed...ninety...one hundred...one hundred and twenty...his excitement grew. Adrenaline coursed through his veins, gave him a mind-blowing rush. He loved being behind the wheel of his race car, loved how invincible he felt whipping around the track at two hundred miles an hour. There was nothing quite like it, no greater high—
You mean, besides making love to Sharleen, right? You lose control every time she clamps her legs around your waist.
Distracted by the erotic image that popped into his mind, he lost control of the car. It jerked violently to the left and spun out onto the grass. He maneuvered it back onto the track and slowly increased his speed. He knew Lockland was going to give him hell for daydreaming, but he struggled to focus, to keep his head in the game. Every day, nonstop, he thought about Sharleen and nothing else.
That morning, while he was washing his motorcycle, Antwan had stormed into his garage. Their argument played in Emilio’s mind as he completed his second lap around the track.
“Why did you give Sharleen a ten-thousand-dollar bonus?” Emilio had asked, crossing his arms.
“Because you’re a handful, and I didn’t want her to quit!”
He’d been annoyed, pissed off by his manager’s joke, but it was what Antwan had said seconds later that made his blood boil.
“Sharleen’s going on tour with Rashad J,” he’d said. “She leaves for LA tonight at six o’clock.”
“What? That’s insane! She just started working with him last week.”
“I know, but he’s been acting a fool for months, and label execs at Urban Beats Records need someone tough like Sharleen to keep him in line during his eighteen-city tour...”
Emilio gripped the steering wheel, imagined it was Rashad J’s neck. Taking a deep breath didn’t stop his mind from racing out of control. Was he overthinking things? Assuming the worst because ex-friends, lovers and relatives had betrayed his trust and used him to gain wealth and popularity? Emilio wasn’t taking any chances. Not where Sharleen was concerned. He’d made a mistake walking out on her on Monday and had to apologize immediately. Punching the gas pedal with his foot, he felt the car zoom around the corner and fly down the track. One more lap, then I’m out of here! He had to see Sharleen before she left town. It was stressful, nerve-racking to think she was off somewhere with Rashad J.
Emilio banished the thought from his mind, refused to entertain it. He didn’t want the Bedroom Maestro putting the moves on his girlfriend and realized, in that moment, how foolish he’d been. Sharleen hadn’t forced him to come out of retirement—he’d made the decision alone. His love of the sport had been the driving factor, not anything she’d ever said or did during their coaching sessions.
Memories of better days, of all the times they’d talked and laughed, warmed his heart. Emilio pictured Sharleen now, in his mind’s eye, and smiled for the first time in days. He’d never met anyone more loving and sincere and knew in his heart that she was the woman he was destined to spend his life with. Emilio wanted her back in his arms, where she belonged. But to get back in her good graces he’d ha
ve to humble himself...
As Emilio approached the finish line, he spotted a curvy female silhouette in a bold, mustard-yellow dress. He was seeing things, had to be, because the woman standing beside Lockland looked like Sharleen. His pulse pounded in his ear, and his heart soared to the sky. Emilio leaned forward in his seat, peered through the windshield, tried to focus his gaze. It really was Sharleen!
His chest puffed up with pride, as if he’d just won another championship, and a grin curled his lips. Seeing Sharleen made him more determined than ever to win her back. Her red lips held a pretty smile, her loose curls flapped in the breeze, and her figure-hugging dress was eye-catching. Emilio couldn’t stop staring at her. His gaze slid over her chest, her hips, and down her silky brown legs. He licked his lips, remembered how incredible it felt being inside her and suddenly lost control of the wheel for the second time.
Emilio slammed on the brakes, stopping safely just in time. He jumped out of the car. He took off his helmet and gloves and tossed them to the ground. His pit crew ran over, wearing bewildered looks, but he ignored them. Sharleen had come to see him, and nothing else mattered.
She strode confidently toward him...twenty feet...ten feet...five feet... Emilio told himself not to rush her, to play it cool. But when she was close, he seized her around the waist and swept her into his arms. He inhaled her perfume, allowed the sweet, floral scent to wash over him. He couldn’t keep his hands off of her, stroked her neck, shoulders and hips. Emilio didn’t know how long he stood there, holding Sharleen, but when she pulled away he felt a profound sense of disappointment.
“I’m glad you’re here,” he said, with a broad smile. “I missed you.”
“I didn’t want you to leave for Milan until we cleared the air—”
“What makes you think I’m going to Milan?”
