Seduced by the Mogul

by Pamela Yaye

  Before she could respond to his message, her cell phone rang, and her mom’s picture popped up on the screen.

  Dread churned inside the pit of her stomach. Her mom didn’t call often, only when there was a problem at home, and Jordana feared the worst. What was it this time? Was her mom short on money again? Was she calling to beg her to come back home?

  Conquering her nerves, she blew out a deep breath, and hit the FaceTime button. A gasp fell from her lips. Mascara stained her mom’s cheeks, and her hair was disheveled, sticking up in every direction. As a child, she’d thought her mom was the most beautiful woman in the world, but life hadn’t been kind to her, and the dark circles under her eyes made her look older than her fifty-eight years. “Mom, what’s wrong?”

  “I—I—I got another letter from Wells Fargo,” she stammered.

  Confused, she frowned and shook her head. “Another letter?” she repeated, trying to make sense of her mother’s words. “When did you receive the first one?”

  Helene sniffed, hanging her head.

  “Talk to me, Mom. I want to know what’s going on.”

  “I didn’t want to bother you at work, but when I read the notice I got scared and I didn’t know who else to call...” Trailing off, she wiped at her eyes. “I thought of giving your brothers a ring, but these days they never pick up when I call. It’s like they’re avoiding me.”

  “Mom, don’t worry. You’re not bothering me. I can talk.” It was a lie, she couldn’t, but Jordana didn’t want to make her mom feel worse than she already did.

  Glancing at her bracelet-style watch, she realized she’d been gone for six minutes, and hoped her supervisor wasn’t actually timing her. Mr. Lundqvist took great pleasure in embarrassing people, especially the female staff. But at the moment, Jordana didn’t care. Helene was upset, and she wasn’t going to abandon her mom in her time of need.

  “I’m going to lose my house...the house I raised you and your brothers in...”

  Hearing a bang, Jordana cranked her head to the right. What was that?

  “Jordana, are you in there? You’ve been gone seven minutes. If you don’t come out right this instant I’m writing you up for insubordination!”

  Startled, she stared at the bathroom door. Her supervisor was yelling her name like a deranged lunatic, but Jordana didn’t move. Screw him. She’d explain the situation to him later, and if that didn’t work, she’d take the matter to HR. She wasn’t letting a psycho with a superiority complex bully her.

  The banging stopped, and Jordana released the breath she was holding.

  “Mom, I have to get back to work, but can you read me the letter before I go?”

  Panic streaked across her face. Growing up in Haiti in a family of eight, her mother had never gone to elementary school. She didn’t learn to read and write until she immigrated to America at nineteen. In spite of the setbacks she’d faced, Helene had tried her best to be a good mother. She didn’t always get it right, and continued to struggle with her own inner demons, but Jordana adored her mom, loved her more than anything in the world.

  Her dad was another story.

  At the thought of him, her stomach churned. Fernán, was an athletic recruiter for a professional soccer team. The more money he’d made, the less time he’d spent with their family. He traveled the world, living it up like a frat boy with no responsibilities. Jordana resented him for leaving them behind. And for favoring her two older brothers, Carlito and Raymon. She’d never had a good relationship with her dad, not even when she was a kid, and these days they rarely spoke. They’d had a heated argument at Carlito’s wedding, and a year later Jordana was still seething about the hurtful things he’d said about Helene. For that reason she’d never ask him for financial help. “Take your time, Mom. You can do it.”

  Jordana heard papers ruffle, watching as her mom wiped her tear-stained cheeks, and put on her eyeglasses. “Go ahead,” she prompted, with a nod of encouragement. “I’m listening.”

  Helene straightened in her chair. Holding her head up high, she rested a hand on her chest and cleared her throat.

  “Dear Ms. Sharpe. This letter is a formal notification that you are in default of your obligation to make payments on your home loan, account number 573189. This account holds a current sum of thirty-nine thousand dollars, payable on June 30...”

  Her mom struggled to read some of the words, but it didn’t matter. It was a foreclosure notice, the worst piece of mail a homeowner could ever receive, and the more Helene read, the sicker Jordana felt. Slumping against the tile wall, she touched a hand to her clammy face. Her mouth watered, craving a cold drink to quench her thirst. In the past, when she felt stressed, she’d hit the clubs with her girlfriends, dancing and drinking for hours.

  God, I’d do anything for a— Jordana pressed her eyes shut, blocked the thought from entering her mind. I’ve changed. I’m a different person now. And I won’t live in the past.

  “This amount has been overdue for ninety days, and you have ignored multiple requests to make a payment,” Helene continued. “Unless the current sum is paid by the listed due date, we have no choice but to begin the foreclosure process on your home...”

  The air thinned, and the walls closed in, making it impossible for Jordana to breathe. Her head was spinning, throbbing in pain, and her throat was so dry it hurt to talk. “Ninety days? Mom, why haven’t you been making your mortgage payments?”

  “I didn’t have the money. My hours were cut, and I don’t have any savings.”

  Jordana nodded in understanding. Her mom earned peanuts as a housekeeper, and the families she worked for often canceled at the last minute. “I was just there. Why didn’t you say anything? I could have gone with you to the bank and spoken to the loan officer.”

  Helene dropped her gaze to her lap. “I was embarrassed and ashamed.”

  Jordana’s heart overflowed with sympathy. Her mom was a proud woman who’d rather go without than ask for help. Jordana understood. She was the same way. What am I going to do? Her salary was barely enough to support herself, let alone Helene. But she’d never forgive herself if she stood by and let the bank take her mother’s home. She considered calling her dad, but he’d made it abundantly clear, on more than one occasion, that Helene wasn’t his responsibility anymore. Her parents had never legally married, and after twelve years together her father had checked out of the relationship, leaving her mother to fend for herself. Her mom had been in financial troubles for as long as she could remember, but even during her worst moments, she’d never seen Helene lose her smile. Until today. She was shaking, sobbing uncontrollably, nothing like the strong, confident woman who’d raised her. “Mom, don’t cry.”

  “I don’t want to lose the house. It’s all I have.”

  “You won’t. We’ll think of something.”

  Helene dabbed at her eyes with her fingertips. “We will?”

  “Of course. We’re in this together, right, Mom?”

  A sad smile touched her lips. “But, the letter says—”

  “I don’t care what the letter says. I’ll get the money.”

  “How?” Helene reached into her blouse, took out a Kleenex and blew her nose. “Your brothers will never help, and you earn minimum wage.”

  Mom, I know, don’t remind me.

  “I’ll think of something. Just trust me, okay?”

  “I don’t know what I’d do without you,” she said quietly. “You’re such a good girl.”

  “Mom, I have to go. Are you going to your meeting tonight?”

  The silence was deafening, lasting so long Jordana had to repeat the question.

  “I don’t feel like it. Not tonight. I want to stay home.”

  Jordana didn’t push. Not this time. “Okay, Mom. I’ll call you later.”

  “Have a good day, honey. I love yo
u.”

  “I love you, too, Mom. Try not to worry.”

  Ending the call, she dropped her cell in her purse, and tiptoed toward the bathroom door. Opening it, she peered down the hall, in search of her crotchety supervisor. Finding the coast clear, she hustled down the corridor as fast as her ballet flats could take her.

  Approaching her cubicle, she heard male voices, and frowned. Her supervisor was talking to someone, and the person sounded a lot like Dante. No way. It couldn’t be. He was surely at his fancy downtown office, not at LA Marketing Enterprises shooting the breeze with her cranky boss.

  Turning the corner, she felt her eyes widen and her legs wobble. Jordana stood there, with her mouth agape, unable to believe what she was seeing. Is this for real? Is my supervisor actually laughing with Dante, or am I dreaming with my eyes open?

  “There you are!” her supervisor said brightly, his smile showcasing every crooked tooth. “I was just telling Mr. Morretti what a valuable member you are of the LA Marketing team, and how much I enjoy working with you.”

  That confirmed it. She was dreaming. Had to be. There was no way in hell her supervisor was publicly praising her. Yelling and screaming, yes; compliments, no.

  “Ms. Sharpe, are you okay?”

  Dante moved in close, and rested his hand on her arm, giving it a light squeeze.

  Goose bumps tickled her skin, and her temperature rose. He was a friend, but he was also a man—a very attractive man who reeked of masculinity—and his touch excited her. In his designer sunglasses and impeccable black suit, Dante was the picture of a young debonair professional at the top of his game. He was hot, no doubt about it, but his appeal didn’t lie in his soulful eyes, and dreamy grin, but in his extraordinary generosity.

  “You look upset. Is something the matter?”

  Before Jordana could answer, her supervisor spoke up. “Of course not. She’s excited about your business lunch, and anxious to tell you about our wonderful agency.”

  Jordana reclaimed her voice. “What business lunch?”

  “Ms. Sharpe, I hope you haven’t forgotten our plans.”

  What plans? We don’t have any! she wanted to scream, giving him a bewildered, what-are-you-talking-about look. And why are you calling me Ms. Sharpe? We’re friends, not strangers. Heck, I’ve known you for almost two years!

  “No, no, of course not,” Mr. Lundqvist said, adamantly shaking his head. He gave Jordana a shove, practically pushing her into Dante’s arms. He spoke in a loud, booming voice, drawing the attention of everyone in the office. One by one, her colleagues poked their heads out of their cubicles. They all wore curious expressions on their faces, and the women were slobbering all over their fancy designer clothes.

  That was no surprise. Dante attracted attention everywhere he went.

  The real estate mogul had a reputation among women, and the house parties at his Beverly Hills mansion were legendary, but he was more than just a handsome face and hot body. He had a keen mind for business, was as gregarious as they came, and was a great listener. He was, without a doubt, the smartest person Jordana knew, and she valued his friendship. He was always teaching her new things—such as how to select the perfect bottle of wine for a pasta dinner—and if not for his support she probably would have returned to Des Moines a long time ago.

  “Ms. Sharpe has been preparing for your meeting for several days now, and she’s anxious to tell you about the charities we support here at LA Marketing Enterprises.”

  “I’m happy to hear that, sir.” Dante put on his sunglasses, and took his keys out of his pocket. “It’s been a pleasure speaking with you, and I look forward to doing it again soon.”

  Pride covered his fleshy face. “Thank you, Mr. Morretti. I’d like that very much.”

  “I’m ready when you are, Ms. Sharpe. Shall we go?”

  A giggle tickled Jordana’s throat.

  “Do whatever it takes to impress him.” Mr. Lundqvist spoke just loud enough for her to hear. “And don’t come back until you have a sizable donation. Understood?”

  Chapter 4

  “Two visits in two days? To what do I owe this honor?”

  Dante opened the glass door, and stepped aside to let Jordana exit the building. Outside, there were more luxury cars in the streets than pedestrians on the sidewalk, and the air held the scent of rain. A helicopter buzzed overhead, and clouds drifted across the somber gray sky. It was the perfect day to be home, watching movies in bed, but since hanging out with Dante was the next best thing, Jordana fell into step beside him.

  “You didn’t give me much of a choice. Yesterday you said I owed you lunch, so I freed up some time in my schedule, and here I am.”

  “Dante, I was kidding. Picking Matteo up from school was my pleasure, not a chore.”

  “I know. That’s why I wanted to do something nice for you.”

  “And why you tricked my boss,” she added, with a knowing smile.

  “Mr. Lundqvist was ranting and raving when I walked in, but when I told him about our meeting he whooped for joy.” Dante chuckled. “I think I even saw a tear in his eye!”

  Walking down the street, talking and cracking jokes, Jordana felt her worries subside and her mood brighten. As suspected, he’d charmed her supervisor and concocted a convincing tale to win her freedom. Jordana was happy to be out of the office. Going out for lunch was a hundred times better than eating last night’s leftovers in the windowless staff room, and she always had a good time with Dante. “How’s my favorite four-year-old doing?”

  “Matteo’s great.” Love shone in his eyes, brightening his face. “He’s spending the night tomorrow, and I have tons of activities planned for Sunday afternoon. You should join us.”

  “I can’t. Waverly and I are having a girls’ day, and she’ll kill me if I cancel.”

  “Why? What are you guys doing? Robbing a bank, Thelma and Louise style?”

  “Not this weekend,” she quipped, with a laugh. “We’re checking out the Cinco de Mayo celebration at Griffith Park, then enjoying a Jennifer Lopez movie marathon at home.”

  Dante made a face. “A Jennifer Lopez movie marathon? Sounds painful.”

  “You’re all talk! I bet if J. Lo walked past us right now you’d be all over her.”

  “Damn right I would! Baby’s got back!”

  Giggling, she playfully jabbed him in the ribs with her elbow. Being with Dante helped her forget her problems—at least momentarily. He made her feel alive, downright giddy. It had been that way from the moment they had met. Dante was an influential businessman who rubbed shoulders with the rich and famous, but he never made her feel less than. They were polar opposites, but he’d always been there for her, and she valued his friendship.

  “This way,” he said, taking her gently by the arm. “I’m parked around the corner.”

  Jordana flicked a finger in the air, gestured to the cafés and restaurants lining the streets. “Let’s eat around here. I only have an hour for lunch, and I don’t want to waste time sitting in traffic, listening to you talk about how amazing your new sports car is.”

  “That’s cold, but since you brought it up, did I tell you my Porsche Spyder has overhead airbags, heated seats and chrome wheels?”

  “Please. I know nothing about cars, and I don’t want to learn, so spare me!”

  “Is that any way to talk to the guy who rescued you from your overbearing boss?” A grin dimpled his cheek, and his lips had never looked more tempting. Hooking an arm around her waist, he pulled her close and tapped a finger against his cheek. “I think you owe me a kiss, so plant one right here.”

  A shiver danced down her spine. Cocky but likable, Dante was the kind of guy most fathers warned their daughters to stay away from, but his confidence was a turn-on. Jordana would never act on her feelings, even if he made a move on he
r, and besides, he was still carrying a torch for his ex-wife. He denied it, said he didn’t love Lourdes anymore, but a blind man could see the truth. “It’s a good thing I like you or I’d be running in the opposite direction!” she joked, giving him a peck on the cheek. “Happy now?”

  Winking, he patted her hips good-naturedly. “Immensely.”

  “Can we eat now? I’m so hungry I’m having double vision!”

  You’re not dizzy because you’re hungry, her inner voice said matter-of-factly. You’re dizzy because of Dante’s smile.

  Her head was spinning, and her heart was beating out of control. What’s the matter with me? Why am I breathless? And why am I staring at Dante’s mouth, wishing it was between my—

  “What are you in the mood for?”

  You mean besides you, in my bed, slathered in chocolate?

  Jordana told herself to knock it off, to quit making eyes at him. She hadn’t been intimate with anyone in a very long time, but she didn’t miss sex. Not in the least. That’s why her physical reaction to Dante—a guy who was like a brother to her—was shocking. Her breathing was shallow, her erect nipples strained against her bra, and the urge to kiss him was all she could think about. “I’m not fussy. You pick.”

  They decided on an American-style restaurant, three blocks from LA Marketing Enterprises, and picked a table in front of the window. People-watching was one of Jordana’s favorite activities, had been since she was a child. As she sat down, she spotted a reality star exiting a high-end boutique. Having met dozens of A-listers over the years, Dante didn’t care who was causing a frenzy outside but Jordana couldn’t resist whipping out her iPhone and snapping away. For as long as she could remember, she’d always dreamed of being an actress. Her parents, namely her father, thought she was delusional, wasting her precious time chasing stardom. But she was determined to prove him wrong. Pleased with the photographs, she dropped her cell phone into her tote bag and picked up the glossy, laminated menu.