by Pamela Yaye
Immanuel didn’t want to hurt her feelings, so he faked a smile. “That’s not necessary, and furthermore I’m not a hero. You are.”
“Your humility is endearing, but you’re not fooling anyone—”
“I did what anyone in my situation would do.”
“That’s a lie. You bought me a designer outfit to wear home from the hospital, an iPhone 6, and a home security system. No one I’ve just met has ever been that benevolent.”
Immanuel couldn’t help but laugh. Dionne was a spitfire, a ballsy, gutsy woman with a great head on her shoulders. He found her fascinating. Few people could have done what she did last night, and the more they talked and laughed, the more he liked her.
“You’re a stand-up guy, Immanuel, and now it’s my turn to spoil you.” Smirking, her eyes radiant and bright, she joked, “FYI, I always get my way. Quit while you’re ahead.”
Immanuel shrugged a shoulder, tried to downplay what he’d done last night. “I have sisters, so I did what I’d want someone to do for them if they were victims of a brutal attack.”
Her face fell, and the smile slid off her lips. Hanging her head, she shifted her weight from one foot to the other. “Don’t say that. I fought back. I’m a survivor. Not a victim—”
Her voice cracked with emotion. Seeing her sadness, the grief that lay naked in her eyes, filled him with guilt. I should have run faster. I should have reached her before that sick bastard knocked her to the ground.
Immanuel moved toward her. He knew it was a mistake to touch her, but he couldn’t stop himself. Her pain was profound, and he wanted to comfort her. He heard a sob escape her lips, felt her body tense, but she didn’t pull away. Immanuel held her tight, close to this chest, tenderly stroking her neck and shoulders. She felt damn good in his arms, like a dream come true.
“Dionne. Dionne. Honey, where are you?”
Startled, Dionne jumped back. “It’s my mom.” Sniffling, she wiped her face with her hands and straightened her clothes. “I apologize in advance for what’s about to happen—”
“There you are.” A full-figured woman with a short Afro charged into the kitchen and wrapped Dionne in her arms. “Thank God you’re all right. I was scared out of my mind.”
“Mom, what’s wrong? Why are you crying?” Dionne cupped her mom’s face in her hands and wiped the tears from her plump brown cheeks. “Talk to me. What’s the matter? When I spoke to you this morning you sounded great.”
Standing in front of the French doors, Immanuel watched the exchange with growing interest. He admired the way Dionne treated her mom, how she spoke quietly to her with love and affection. And for some strange reason, seeing them embrace made Immanuel think about Emilio. Will we ever be real brothers again?
“I was at work, having lunch in the staff room, when I saw the story of your attack on the twelve o’clock news. I was dumbfounded, and...”
Dionne groaned in despair. For the second time in minutes tears filled her eyes. Immanuel wished he could take her back in his arms and tell her everything would be okay, but he stayed put. It wasn’t his place, and he didn’t want to earn the wrath of her mother. Like Dionne, her mother was petite with dark brown eyes and flawless skin. She spoke in a heavy Somali accent, and gestured wildly with her hands..
“I—I—I was on the news?” Dionne’s voice was loud and panicked, thick with despair. “My clients will think I’m weak, and they’ll find another coaching center—”
“The reporter didn’t use your name, but I recognized your license plate number,” Mrs. Osman explained. “Why didn’t you say anything? Why did you lie to me?”
“Ma, I didn’t want you to worry. It was nothing.”
Mrs. Osman touched her cheek. “But your face is swollen, and your eyes are—”
“I’ll survive. Besides, it’s nothing makeup can’t cover.”
“I’m just glad you’re okay. I don’t know what I’d do if anything ever happened to you.”
“Yes, you do. You’d use the insurance money to build your dream house in Somalia.”
“Hush your mouth, child. Death isn’t something to joke about.” Mrs. Osman rested her hands on her hips and glanced around the kitchen. “Where’s Jules? He should be here taking care of you. You were mugged last night, and you need him now more than ever.”
Dionne groaned. “Mom, please don’t do this. I’m tired. I don’t have the energy to argue with you about the sanctity of marriage and my failures as a wife.”
Feeling like an intruder inside Dionne’s home, Immanuel knew it was time to leave. He’d call later and apologize for leaving without saying goodbye. He turned and strode out of the kitchen, but stopped when he heard Mrs. Osman shriek. Glancing over his shoulder, he was surprised to see both women staring at him with admiration in their eyes.
“You saved my baby?”
Mrs. Osman rushed across the room and threw her arms around his shoulders. She held him so tight he feared his ribs would crack. She kissed him on each cheek, then did it again for good measure. “God bless you, young man. Thank you from the bottom of my heart.”
“Ma’am, it was nothing.”
Mrs. Osman furrowed her eyebrows, wearing a puzzled look. “You call saving a woman’s life nothing? You’re a hero, and my husband and I are forever in your debt.”
Immanuel sensed it was a bad idea to argue, so he remained quiet.
“You have to join us for dinner tonight. Please, say you’ll stay.”
“That is very kind of you, Mrs. Osman, but I have other plans.” It was a lie, but Immanuel didn’t feel comfortable breaking bread with Dionne—not when his attraction to her was spiraling out of control. “All the best in your recovery. And remember what Dr. Pelayo said. Take it easy for the next few days, and don’t push yourself.”
“I won’t, and thanks again for everything.” Dionne smiled. “I’ll be in touch.”
Immanuel strode out of the kitchen, down the hallway and out the front door. Intent on making it downtown before the end of the business day, he hopped in his car and sped out of the cul-de-sac. In all the years he’d been working in the security business, he’d seen it all—extortion, embezzlement cases, kidnappings and even a murder attempt. After talking to Detective Sluggs that morning, he suspected someone in Dionne’s inner circle was behind her attack. And the prime suspect was his new client: Jules Fontaine.
* * *
Fontaine Enterprises occupied the thirteenth floor of One Atlantic Center. The building was a national symbol of success, an iconic landmark more than three decades old. It stood fifty stories high, and was home to the most revered names in the business world. It was within walking distance of High Museum, Woodruff Arts Center, and premier restaurants, hotels and boutiques.
The lobby of Fontaine Enterprises was filled with marble and granite; everything shone and sparkled. The ten-foot windows offered unobstructed views of the city. As Immanuel approached the front desk, he straightened his navy blue Burberry tie. The receptionist, an Asian woman with fake eyelashes and peach lips, greeted him with a wide, radiant smile. “Good afternoon. Welcome to Fontaine Enterprises. How may I help you?”
“I’m Immanuel Morretti. I’m here to see Mr. Fontaine.”
The receptionist opened the black leather-bound book on her desk and ran a gel nail down the right column. She narrowed her eyes and pursed her lips as if she was sucking on a lemon. “Is he expecting you?”
“Yes, of course.” On the drive over, he’d called Jules several times, with no success, but the receptionist didn’t need to know the truth. He had to speak to the CFO today, and he wasn’t leaving Fontaine Enterprises until he did.
“I’m sorry, but Mr. Fontaine is in an important meeting and can’t be disturbed.”
“No problem. I’ll wait.”
“Very well, Mr. Morretti. Please
have a seat in the waiting area.” Her smile was polite, but it failed to reach her eyes. “Can I interest you in something to drink?”
Immanuel glanced over his shoulder and scanned the refreshments on the side table. “If it’s not too much trouble, I’d love a cup of warm milk.”
“Milk?” she repeated, wrinkling her nose.
“Yes, please, thank you.”
The receptionist stood, straightened her orange A-line dress and flipped her long, silky hair over her shoulders. “Give me one moment.”
“Thank you, miss. I appreciate it.”
Immanuel took out his cell phone, punched in his password and scrolled through his new text messages. He pretended to be absorbed in his task, but he was watching the receptionist out of the corner of his eye. The moment she turned around, Immanuel sped through the glass doors and down the corridor. Having been to Fontaine Enterprises before, he knew exactly where to go. Confronting Jules about his suspicions could cost Immanuel his job, but he didn’t care. Doing the right thing was all that mattered, and he was determined to uncover the truth.
At the end of the hall, Immanuel turned left and stopped at the corner office. He knocked on the door, then threw it open. A woman with big hair and fuchsia lips hopped to her feet and fussed with her clothes. Jules sat behind his executive desk, wearing a sly, dirty grin.
“Immanuel, what are you doing here?” Jules spoke to Immanuel, but his gaze remained glued to the brunette’s ass. “I’m busy.”
“I need to talk to you about Dionne. It’s important.”
Jules gave a curt nod, rudely dismissing the brunette with a flick of his hands.
The mystery woman fled the office and closed the door behind her. A modern mix of leather, wood and glass, the space was an extravagant display of luxury and wealth. Certificates and awards were prominently displayed on the mounted wall shelves, but Immanuel wasn’t impressed. Born into a rich family, Jules Fontaine had had everything handed to him, though he foolishly believed he was the reason for his success. He was a loud, opinionated prick, and if not for his charity work and million-dollar donations, Immanuel would think the man had no heart.
“I don’t have time to shoot the breeze, so make this quick.”
Of course you don’t. You’re too busy getting blow jobs from your female staff. There was something about Jules Fontaine that irked him, that set his teeth on edge. He carried himself in a smug manner, as if he owned the world and everyone in it. Immanuel couldn’t figure out how Jules—a short, average-looking guy—had scored a woman like Dionne. Immanuel suspected the businessman had showered her with expensive gifts to win her heart.
“Dionne was robbed last night.”
He shrugged and leaned back in his chair. “What does that have to do with me?”
“Don’t you care?”
“No. She’s been acting like a spoiled brat for months, and I’ve had enough. Hopefully, this assault will knock some sense into her, literally.” Reclining in his chair, as if he was tanning on the beach, he clasped his hands behind his head and propped his legs up on his desk. “Her attack could turn out to be a blessing in disguise.”
Immanuel’s eyes thinned, and his body shook with uncontrollable rage. He felt his hands curl into fists and imagined himself punching Jules in the face. He hated men who mistreated women, and stared at the businessman with disdain.
Jules must have sensed what was coming, must have seen the murderous expression on Immanuel’s face, because he now wore an apologetic smile. “Forgive me. That came out wrong. What I meant to say was that I hope this experience reminds Dionne how precious life is. I’m her husband, and I deserve to be treated with gratitude and respect.”
“Did you have anything to do with the assault? Did you hire that creep to rough her up?”
“What are you, a cop now? I don’t answer to you. Now, get out of my office, and don’t come back until you have evidence of Dionne’s infidelity.” A grin claimed his lips. “And I don’t care what you have to do to get it—even if you have to set her up.”
A chill whipped through Immanuel’s body. Everything became clear. Why Jules had hired him. Why he’d insisted he personally handle this case. His experience working on high-profile cases had nothing to do with it. Jules knew about the scandal in Venice—the one that had destroyed his business and his reputation—and thought he could manipulate him into doing something shady to frame Dionne. It was obvious Jules was a jerk, a snake of the lowest kind, and Immanuel wanted no part of his sick, devious plot. “I quit.”
“You can’t quit. We have a contract.”
“Just watch me.”
The men stared each other down, glaring at each other with contempt.
“I think you had something to do with Dionne’s attack, and since I don’t do business with criminals, our contract is null and void, effective immediately.”
“If you screw me over, I’ll run your business into the ground.”
Immanuel turned and walked back through the office. He knew he was doing the right thing, making a wise decision, and there was nothing Jules could say to change his mind. “I don’t give a damn what you do. I don’t respect men who abuse women.”
“I hired you for a reason, and I expect you to do your job.”
Stopping, he wheeled around and faced Jules once again. “I’m going to ask you one more time, and this time I want the truth. Did you hire someone to hurt your estranged wife?”
“Of course not. I’d never do anything to hurt her. She’s my life, my everything...”
Sure she is. That’s why you’re screwing other women.
“I need you to watch out for her,” he continued. “Dionne has a lot of enemies, and—”
“Really?” Immanuel cocked an eyebrow. “Like who?”
“Dionne isn’t the easiest person to work for, and over the years several of her employees have threatened her. Most recently, Brad McClendon.”
A sour taste filled his mouth. Someone had threatened Dionne? Why didn’t she tell the police? Why was she protecting her ex-employee? Were they lovers?
“Imagine how you’d feel if Dionne got hurt again and you weren’t there to protect her.”
That’s my biggest fear.
“Stay on the case. I’ll double your salary.”
Immanuel was troubled, unsure of what to do. He sensed Jules was lying to him, saying what he thought he wanted to hear. It was apparent someone was after Dionne. He needed sound advice and knew who to call. “I’ll be in touch.”
Immanuel then turned and marched out of the office. As he strode down the corridor, his doubts intensified. He couldn’t shake the feeling that Jules was playing him, and that was reason enough to stay away from the smug CFO. A meeting with his attorney was definitely in order, because the sooner Immanuel severed ties with Jules Fontaine, the better.
Chapter 6
Dionne loved Mel and Lorna and appreciated their taking time out of their busy day to visit her, but she wanted her sisters out of her house, now. They’d overstayed their welcome, and their incessant questions about the attack and Jules’s whereabouts had her on edge. She woke up that morning with the intention of going to the office, but when she looked in the mirror and saw her puffy eyes and swollen face, she decided to work from home. Just as she’d entered her home office, her sisters had arrived with breakfast. As they sat down in the kitchen to eat, Sharleen had shown up with flowers and get-well balloons. Upon learning about Dionne’s attack, she’d cut her romantic trip short and promptly returned to Atlanta. Dionne appreciated the sacrifices she’d made and thanked her for being a terrific friend and vice president.
The women sat at the kitchen table, eating and chatting, but Dionne wasn’t hungry. Nor was she interested in joining the conversation. It was a challenge to stay awake when all she wanted to do was curl up
on the couch and sleep.
Dionne yawned and stretched her sore, achy arms in the air. Tossing and turning all night, she’d had horrible dreams about the attack, nightmares so frightening she was scared to fall asleep. Dionne was nervous about leaving the house, afraid the mugger was outside lurking in the shadows. She wished Immanuel were there to protect her.
Thinking about her real-life hero—the man who’d risked his life to save hers—brought a smile to her lips. What struck her most about Immanuel, besides his good looks, was his kindness and generosity. That’s why Dionne wanted to see him again, to return the favor. He’d turned her down twice, but she wasn’t giving up. She wanted to do something special for Immanuel, and considered asking Sharleen for advice.
“Dionne, Mom’s right.” Mel reached for her glass of orange juice and took a drink. “Jules should be here with you. He’s your husband, and you need him now more than ever.”
No, what I need is for you to get off my back.
Mel was a wife and a mother of two, with caramel skin, a slender shape and ridiculously long legs. When she wasn’t chasing after her toddler sons, she was doing yoga, whipping up vegan recipes and caring for her elderly mother-in-law.
“You were mugged, and that crook knows where you live.” Lorna shivered, as if chilled to the bone. “You shouldn’t be by yourself at a time like this. You should be with Jules, in your marital home, not going it alone here in Brookhaven. “
Dionne didn’t want to talk about the attack, and she damn sure didn’t want to talk about her marriage. Why couldn’t her sisters understand that? Why were they being so judgmental? And why were they pushing her to reconcile with Jules? He’d called last night, supposedly to check up on her, but spent the entire conversation talking about himself. He’d been nominated for Atlanta Businessperson of the Year, and wanted her to accompany him to the award luncheon in November. As if. The event was just days before their court date, and Dionne would rather swim with sharks than pretend to be his dutiful wife.
