Seduced by the Hero

by Pamela Yaye

  Her cell phone buzzed, and she took it out of her purse. Dionne punched in her password, read her newest text message and smiled for the first time that morning. It was from Immanuel. His words of encouragement made her feel supported, cared for. He called every night to check up on her, but Dionne hadn’t seen him since he’d left her house earlier that week. It felt longer than four days, more like four months, but after the conversation they’d had about her marital status she knew it was important to give him space. She thought about him constantly, wondered how he was doing, and hoped he was thinking about her, too. Doubtful, since women threw themselves at him 24/7, but they had a strong connection, and Dionne felt fortunate to have Immanuel in her life. That’s why she’d planned a special surprise for him. After her meeting, she was picking him up from Mastermind Operations and treating him to lunch. Thanks to Immanuel, the painters had done a great job repainting her deck, and all traces of the graffiti were gone. Unfortunately, she was still getting prank calls on her cell phone. Dionne was considering changing her number, but decided she would talk to Immanuel about the situation first. He’d know what to do; he always did.

  “Dionne, let me do the talking this time—”

  “Absolutely not,” she said, adamantly shaking her head. “I can speak for myself.”

  “Yes, I know, but the last time we met you threw your water glass at Jules. I don’t want things to get out of hand again.”

  “He called me a bitch. What did you expect me to do?”

  Pride brightened her eyes, covered her face.

  “Let me handle Jules this time, okay? I do this for a living, and I eat creeps like him for breakfast!”

  The door opened and Jules, and his attorney, a lanky man named Mr. Munson, marched inside. Dionne wrinkled her nose. The stench of nicotine and cologne was so heavy in the air her stomach churned. What are they trying to do? Kill me? Is that their strategy?

  “Good morning,” she said with a polite nod. “Let’s get down to business, shall we?”

  Mr. Munson set his briefcase on the table and flipped it open. “Mr. Fontaine has revised his initial offer, and I think you’ll both agree it’s more than fair. Here is a copy for your review.”

  He slid the document across the table, and Dionne read it carefully, ensuring she didn’t miss anything. It was a sham. It was the same settlement agreement he’d offered her back in August. The only thing he’d changed was her home address. “I’m not signing this.”

  “I knew you’d come to your senses,” Jules said with a toothy smile. Standing, he scooped his iPhone off the table with one hand, and straightened his gray double-breasted suit jacket with the other. “I’m going back to work. See you at home, babe.”

  “Don’t call me that,” she snapped, annoyed with his smug, cocksure attitude. “I’m not your babe.”

  His eyes narrowed, and his face hardened like stone. “You’re not coming home?”

  “Not a chance in hell.”

  Silence fell across the room.

  “My client doesn’t want to go to court,” Mr. Munson said, clasping his hands together. “So what do we have to do to resolve this situation in a peaceful, amicable manner?”

  Zakkiyah spoke up, but Dionne interrupted her. She had to. This was her life, and she wanted to speak for herself. “I want sole ownership of the land I bought in Somalia last year,” she said in a firm voice. “I bought it with my own money, as a gift to my parents, and—”

  “Anything purchased during our marriage is joint property, babe. You know that.”

  “Mr. Fontaine is right. In order to keep the land, you’ll have to offer him a financial settlement, or you can sell the property and split the proceeds evenly down the middle.”

  Jules sneered in triumph, as if he’d beat her at a game of chess. He draped an arm over the side of his chair. His eyes were filled with arrogance and hate.

  Her temperature rose, and perspiration clung to her skin. Dionne could hear her heart beating, the loud, pulsing sound throbbing in her ears. She wanted to hurt Jules, imagined herself kicking him in the shin with her high-heeled shoes, but logic prevailed and she abandoned the thought. It was a challenge, but she remained calm and didn’t lunge across the table to smack the grin off his face.

  Glancing discreetly at her diamond Cartier watch, she watched the seconds tick by with nervous anticipation. Five...four...three...two...one...

  Jules’s cell phone rang at precisely ten o’clock, and he put it to his ear. “Talk to me,” he chirped, drumming his fingers on the table. “I’m sorry, what did you say your name was?”

  “Don’t let Jules rattle you,” Zakkiyah whispered. “Stick to the game plan...”

  “No comment.” Jules ended the call and rounded on Dionne, shouting and screaming insults. Sweat dripped down his face, and the veins in his forehead throbbed. “You’re a real piece of work,” he said, speaking through clenched teeth. “When were you going to tell me about your exclusive interview with Atlanta Tribune magazine at one o’clock today?”

  Dionne made her eyes wide, pretended she was confused by the question. She hated his tone and his dark, malevolent stare. He looked like the villain in a horror movie, and seemed to transform right before her eyes. To win, she had to project confidence, not fear, so she held her head high and met his steely gaze. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “Yes, you do!” Jules gestured to his cell phone, raising it high in the air. “That was the editor of Atlanta Tribune. She asked if I wanted to be interviewed for the magazine as well.”

  Dionne remained quiet, crossed her legs, and pretended to study her manicured nails.

  “This is how you repay me? After everything I’ve done for you?” Jules slammed his fist on the table and surged to his feet. He raged like a tropical storm crashing into dry land, yelling, cursing, screaming obscenities. “Dammit, Ross, don’t just sit there! Do something!”

  “There is nothing we can do,” he answered with a shrug of his shoulders. “It’s a free world. We can’t stop her from doing interviews.”

  “Then I’ll sue her ass for defamation of character.” Eagerly nodding his head, he stuck out his chest and rested his hands on his hips. “You’re not the self-made woman you claim to be. You’re a fraud. Nothing but a low-down dirty gold digger who married up.”

  Dionne held a finger in the air. “Call me out of my name one more time and I’ll spill the beans about your yearly sex trips to Thailand.”

  His jaw dropped, and the color drained from his face.

  “That’s right, Jules, I know all about your overseas ‘business trips,’” she said, making air quotes with her hands. “I met with your former secretary last night, and she was most helpful.”

  “I can’t believe this shit,” he grumbled. “You stupid, conniving bitch.”

  “A bitch would have told everyone about your penchant for screwing underage girls, but I didn’t say a word. I’m saving that juicy tidbit for my media tour.”

  His face crumpled like a sheet of paper. “You have no proof.”

  “Tune in to my weekly podcast tomorrow. It’s going to be a fascinating hour, and I think you’ll be impressed with how resourceful I am.”

  Jules dropped into his chair and tugged at the knot in his tie. “What do you want?”

  He sounded defeated, looked it, too, but Dionne wasn’t fooled by his woe-is-me act. He was trying to gain sympathy by playing the victim, tricking her so he could get the upper hand. He’d done it before, too many times to count, over the course of their tumultuous five-year marriage. If given the chance he would do it again.

  “I want the land I bought in Somalia and a million dollars for my shares in Fontaine Enterprises, and the Pathways Center expansion project must be completed by March of next year.”

  He furrowed his eyebrow. “That’s
it? That’s all you want?”

  Zakkiyah clutched Dionne’s arm. “Ask for spousal support and attorney fees,” she whispered, dollar signs twinkling in her dark brown eyes. “That’s another two million.”

  “This isn’t about money.”

  “Of course it is! He’s worth millions, and it’s time to make him pay up.”

  “If I accept spousal support, Jules will hold it over my head for the rest of my life. Besides, I have my own money. I don’t need his.”

  Mr. Munson cleared his throat. “Do we have a deal?”

  Dionne wanted to jump for joy, but she remained in her seat. “Yes.”

  “Fine, I’ll draft the papers and fax them to your attorney’s office first thing tomorrow.”

  Zakkiyah opened her briefcase. “I have the revised divorce agreement right here.”

  Jules and Mr. Munson shared a bewildered look.

  “Go ahead,” she urged, pushing the document across the table. “Take a look.”

  “We’ll need a few days to look it over.”

  Dionne shook her head. “You have an hour.”

  “An hour!” He was breathing heavily, huffing and puffing like a sprinter at the end of the hundred-yard dash. His eyes were wide with alarm. “We need more time.”

  “You’ve had almost a year. Enough is enough.” Dionne rose to her feet, picked up her purse and put on her vintage-style sunglasses. “It’s your choice. You can sign the divorce decree, or I can head to the Tribune for my one o’clock interview. What will it be?”

  * * *

  Dionne opened her car door and collapsed onto the driver’s seat. It was over. Finally. After months of countless arguments and disagreements, she was a free woman. Free of Jules, his lies and his meddlesome family. Her plan had worked, gone off without a hitch, and she had Annabelle Clark to thank. She’d asked the novice life coach to call Jules posing as a magazine reporter, and she had given an award-winning performance.

  Her thoughts turned to her family. Dionne wondered what they would say when she told them the news. Her parents were going to be upset—her sisters, too—but for once she wasn’t concerned about their happiness. They didn’t know what it was like living with Jules, had no idea how selfish and insensitive he could be, and Dionne knew in her heart she’d made the right decision. She’d done what was best for her, and that was all that mattered.

  Starting the car, Dionne was surprised to see the time on the dashboard clock. It had taken Jules and Mr. Munson fifteen minutes to read the divorce decree, but they’d wasted another hour arguing with Zakkiyah about the confidentiality agreement. There was no media tour in the works, no interviews lined up with local magazines or reporters. But she’d signed the necessary papers and laughed to herself when Jules sauntered out of the room like a champion.

  Dionne put on her seat belt and slowly backed out of her parking space. If she hurried, she could make it to Mastermind Operations by noon. Immanuel loved the food at the Italian bistro across the street from his office, and he’d treated her to lunch at the cozy family-owned restaurant on several occasions. The last time we were there was the first time we almost kissed, she thought with a dreamy sigh. Just the thought of it aroused her, made her giddy with excitement. Immanuel had been a great friend to her the past couple months, and if not for his great advice, she’d probably still be at Simmons & Sons Law Firm arguing with Jules. Dionne couldn’t wait to share her good news with Immanuel and took off like a rocket down the block.

  An hour later, Dionne pulled up in front of Mario’s Italian Restaurant. She glanced at the front window to see if the restaurant was busy, and her lips parted in surprise. Dr. Pelayo was sitting at a round table, and she wasn’t alone. Immanuel was her date. At the sight of him, her heart ached. He looked gorgeous in his casual business attire, more handsome than she remembered. Is that even possible? I just saw him a few days ago!

  Dionne examined her competition, assessed the emergency room doctor with a critical eye. Her makeup was flawless, her dark brown hair was a mass of lush curls, and her crimson dress served up an eyeful of cleavage. More shocking still, she had love in her eyes. Dr. Pelayo was glowing, wearing a radiant smile. Her expression was the picture of happiness.

  Dionne felt like a Peeping Tom and knew she should leave, but she couldn’t stop staring at the attractive couple. Their attraction was evident, their chemistry so strong and intense she could feel the electricity pulsing between them from a hundred feet away. Dionne wanted to go inside and confront them, but struck the idea from her mind. Immanuel wasn’t her boyfriend. Hell, they’d never even kissed. If she stormed into the restaurant, he’d think she was a nut. Her feelings were hurt, but she had to let him be. Had to back off. He was interested in someone else, and she had no choice but to accept it.

  Sadness filled her, made her heart throb and ache. Immanuel was dating Dr. Pelayo. That was the real reason he’d rejected her the other night. Her marital status had nothing to do with it. Why didn’t he tell her the truth? Did he think she couldn’t handle it? Or was that his way of letting her down easy?

  Dionne sat there thinking about the events of the past few weeks and the time she’d spent with Immanuel. They were some of the happiest moments of her life. Dining at premier restaurants, exploring museums and art galleries, hanging out with his family, spending hours on the phone confiding in each other. He’d come to mean a lot to her, and seeing him with another woman was a painful, crushing blow.

  Dionne pressed her eyes shut and drew a deep breath to calm her nerves. She didn’t have time to fret about Immanuel and his new girlfriend. She had work to do, lots of it, before Sharleen dropped her off at the airport. Nothing was worth missing her flight.

  Taking one last look at the couple, Dionne stepped on the gas and pulled into traffic.

  Chapter 15

  The mood inside the grand ballroom at the Sheraton Seattle Hotel was lively and upbeat. Dionne couldn’t wait to get on stage and deliver her speech to the sold-out crowd. Participants wearing smiles and name tags wandered around the room checking out the various booths and displays. Being among distinguished executives at the helm of profitable companies made Dionne realize this was the “big break” she’d been waiting for her whole life.

  Boisterous laughter and conversation filled the bright, spacious room. As Dionne walked around, greeting people and shaking hands, thoughts of Immanuel filled her mind. I wish he were here. We would have had fun together.

  Arriving in Seattle late last night, she’d headed straight to the hotel. Sophisticated and stylish, it was one of the city’s flashiest, most popular hotels. It was a prime location for shopping and sightseeing, and its trendy restaurants were a hit among tourists and locals alike. The establishment had everything a traveler could want, and Dionne planned to take full advantage of all the amenities the hotel had to offer.

  Upon arriving at her suite, she’d collapsed onto the king-size bed. Instead of going to sleep, she’d turned on her laptop. She wanted her speech to be perfect, something that inspired and incited change, and had stayed up for hours working on it.

  That morning, after a light breakfast, she’d enjoyed an in-suite massage, then a bubble bath. Immanuel had phoned while she was getting dressed, but she’d let his call go to voice mail. He didn’t leave a message, and she didn’t call him back. What for? So he could gush about his newfound love? Dionne didn’t want to hear it. So instead of fretting about a man she wanted—but could never have—she enjoyed some retail therapy at her favorite department store. Feeling generous, she’d bought Chanel scarves for her mom and sisters, toys for her nieces and nephews, and a wool fedora for her dad to add to his enormous hat collection. Hopefully the gifts would help smooth things over with her family, and they’d forgive her for not being the perfect daughter and sister they wanted her to be.

  “Dionne, how wonderful to see y
ou again!” The program coordinator, a slender woman with bone-straight hair and wide hips, touched her forearm and led her to the stage.

  Standing behind the lectern, Dionne watched as participants hurried to their seats. Sweat drenched her palms, and her mouth dried. To calm her nerves, she took a deep breath and allowed the fragrant scent in the air to relax her mind. Over the years, she’d spoken at workshops and career day events at prestigious universities, but this was her biggest stage yet, and Dionne didn’t want to mess up.

  “Please give a warm welcome to life coach and bestselling author Dionne Fontaine.”

  Polite applause filled the air, and cell phone cameras flashed.

  Holding her head high, she straightened her shoulders and strode confidently across the stage. Dionne took her place behind the lectern, opened her leather-bound notebook and greeted the crowd with a wide smile. “I’m thrilled to be here, and I want to thank committee organizers for giving me the opportunity to speak to you about my personal journey to success.”

  The back door opened, and Dionne’s gaze landed on the new arrival. Her eyebrows shot up, and her skin burned like fire. Immanuel? Feeling unsteady on her feet, as if her knees would buckle, she gripped the lectern stand to steady her balance. What is he doing here? How did he know where to find me? Is he alone, or is his girlfriend with him?

  Her gaze zeroed in on his lips—the thick, juicy lips she was dying to kiss—then slid down his chest. Immanuel always looked amazingly cool, like a badass action hero in a Hollywood movie. Seeing him made her heart swoon. His camel-brown coat and black dress pants fit Immanuel perfectly, and his stare was intense, so laser-sharp she couldn’t take her eyes off him. Dionne heard someone gasp, then watched as people turned around one by one to look at the back door. Eyes popped, jaws dropped, and women old enough to be his mother licked their lips and fanned their faces as if they were suffering from heatstroke.