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“You’re not?” he asked in feigned surprise.
She rolled her eyes. “Surprise, surprise, Mr. I Can’t Keep My Personal Life Out of the Tabloids. Not every straight woman flings herself at your feet. Some of us have more discretion—and taste.”
Alek leaned back in his chair and rubbed his chin. “Perhaps if you stopped playing businesswoman and focused on finding a life of your own, you wouldn’t have time to watch mine.”
Alessandra fought hard to keep her composure. Gone was her nervousness, replaced by the fire and indignation his attitude evoked. She enjoyed their banter. She even felt rallied by his challenge. “And perhaps your life entails such a long string of women because you’re incapable of satisfying one well enough to stay around,” she said, and then offered him a tip of her head. So there.
Alessandra rose and gathered her files and folders before turning to walk to the door without another look at him.
“Perhaps if you were my type I would show you how well equipped I am at satisfying a woman.”
She froze just as her hand closed around the cool brass of the doorknob. She released a short breath as if a pressure valve had been briefly turned. Allowing herself a five count, she turned and walked the length of the spacious conference room to stand before him. She reached down to grip the back of his chair, bringing their faces just inches apart. His face within a lick of her oxblood-tinted lips, she said, “Physically I am your type, Alek. I am very much your type...and you know it. Humph, it’s only my brain and my backbone that you think are a turnoff.”
His face was a mask of boredom, but his eyes dipped down to her mouth, and Alessandra saw it. Her breath caught and she rose, backing away from him at the truth of her words in his eyes. She knew desire when she saw it. She turned and quick-walked to the door, trying to hide how much he flustered her.
“Qui s’enfuit maintenant?” he asked smoothly in French.
He must have known she spoke it fluently. “Who’s running away now?” he’d asked.
Me. I’m running. Running fast and hard and not stopping one damn bit.
Alessandra didn’t stop her hurried steps until she had left the room and pulled the door closed behind her. With her heart beating rapidly, she licked the dryness from her mouth and allowed herself a moment to press her back to the door as she fought hard to reclaim the coolness she had become known for in the last five years.
Making a pained face, she raised her free hand to lightly knock her wrist against her forehead. “Stupid, stupid, stupid,” she admonished herself in a whisper.
The man was a chauvinist who made it clear he wanted her out of the company in which they equally owned the majority of shares. He had no respect for her. No desire to work with her or even be around her.
The doorknob turned against her buttocks a moment before it was opened from behind her. Alessandra’s face filled with alarm as she felt her body free-fall backward.
She felt Alek’s large hands wrap around her upper arms. The thin material of her shirt did nothing to protect her from the warmth of his touch as he kept her from hitting the floor. Her head landed on one of his shoulders and her back pressed lightly against his chest.
Alessandra felt nothing but strength.
Quickly she turned, accidentally pressing her body back against the open door. “Th-thank—thank you,” she stuttered, her nerves completely undone by him.
He stepped up close to her.
Alessandra tried to back away more but there was nothing but the unrelenting pressure of the door against her back.
“You’re welcome, Alessandra,” he said softly, before reaching up to lightly stroke her cheek and then her chin before he walked away from her.
She closed her eyes and released a long shaky breath, left with nothing but the warm scent of his cologne and the lingering aftereffects of his touch.
* * *
I wanted to kiss her.
Alek looked back over his shoulder as he walked down the length of the hall leading to his office. He stopped and turned as Alessandra closed the door to the conference room, pressed her files to her chest and then walked across the reception area. His eyes shifted down to the gentle sway of her hips and buttocks in her pants.
Alek considered himself a connoisseur of woman, and Alessandra Dalmount was top-shelf.
Very nice, he thought, not turning away to continue down the hall until she was out of his line of vision.
He walked through the open glass double doors into his outer office.
“Hello, Ms. Kingsley,” he said to the woman whose very appearance was the essence of propriety and no-nonsense.
He wanted it that way. He’d experienced the debacle of a young, sexy secretary with her eye on the wealthy executive. He didn’t need the temptation.
Ms. Kingsley gave him a smile that didn’t reach her cobalt blue eyes. “I entered all your messages on the online log,” she said.
Alek patted the inner pocket over his heart where his iPhone sat. “I got the notifications. Thank you,” he said, moving past her desk to open one of the double doors leading into his office.
“Please get Naim Ansah on the line.”
“Of course, sir.”
With an approving nod, he closed the door and tossed his briefcase on the leather sofa of his reception area before he unbuttoned his silk-lined blazer to remove it and place it on the hanger of the wooden valet standing just outside his private bathroom. Taking his seat behind his massive desk, he signed on to his iPad to check the log of his incoming messages. A few business calls, and at least one message each from his mother, LuLu, his sister, Samira, and his brother, Naim.
He smiled. His return to New York meant more time spent with the family he had left behind five years ago. They visited him often in London, but he was pleased to be back among them regularly. He was sure his mother was already preparing his favorite Ghanaian dish of yam fufu and nkatenkwan. He couldn’t wait to pull off a piece of the fufu ball and dip into the stew of chicken cooked in a rich peanut butter sauce and tomatoes with spices.
His stomach grumbled, but he focused on work instead. It was time to get serious about his plan to shift ADG into commercial aviation, and his younger brother was just the help he needed. Naim was younger than him by five years, but he was ambitiously climbing through the ranks of the company through sheer hard work. Nepotism had gotten him in the door but Naim was out to prove that he deserved his seat at the table. In the three years since he had begun at ADG, he had moved up the ranks from a management trainee to a lead position in the marketing division.
Bzzz.
“Yes?” he said, continuing to scan the message log.
“Mr. Ansah is in a meeting. Would you like me to continue holding?” Ms. Kingsley asked via the intercom.
Alek held his finger above the tablet at the sight of his ex-wife’s name. Kenzay called? His brows dipped as he frowned deeply.
“Sir?” Ms. Kingsley gently nudged.
“No. I’ll see him later,” he said before turning off the intercom.
He leaned back in his chair and swiveled to look out the twenty-foot windows. The warmth of the sunlight framed him as he looked off in the distance at the varying shapes, colors and designs of the neighboring high-rise buildings. Is Kenzay in New York?
Usually they reached out to each other only during those rare occasions they were in the same city.
He’d met the beautiful socialite on the elevator of the Burj Al Arab in Dubai. He’d been staying at the hotel while in the country checking on one of ADG’s numerous oil refineries; she was on a massive shopping spree sponsored by her father, a real estate developer of luxury hotels and mansions. Within hours they were making love against the floor-to-ceiling windows of his presidential suite with the sapphire ocean as their backdrop. Six months later they were married in a five-million-dollar destination wedding in the Maldives. The honeymoon period came and went quickly. Although their nights were filled with hot sex, their days were nothing but bitter arguments and long stretches of cold silence. They agreed neither wanted to be married and they never truly loved each other. By their second wedding anniversary their divorce was finalized.
Over the last three years, they’d occasionally given in to the attraction that still simmered between them. Neither wanted to reunite permanently and both frequently dated other people. Kenzay’s dating life was just as adventurous and well chronicled by the press as his own as she traveled the world on her father’s dime and the generous divorce settlement he paid to her based on their prenuptial agreement.
If she was calling she was somewhere nearby. Maybe an afternoon romp would relax me...
He picked up the phone to dial her cell phone number but changed his mind with a shake of his head and a downturn of his lips. He didn’t have time for the distraction of his ex-wife. He had to stay focused on another woman in his life.
Alek swiveled away from the window. His dark eyes landed on his briefcase on the leather sofa. The file containing Alessandra’s proposal was in it. She surprised him with more than just her change in looks and demeanor. She was further ahead on her proposal than he thought.
He swore, leaning back in his leather executive chair and tenting his fingers beneath his strong chin.
Their stalemate in that boardroom was one of the prime reasons he didn’t want to share ownership with Alessandra. He wasn’t quite sure how their fathers had accomplished it for thirty years. Because they had been equals. They’d respected each other.
It was going to take more than an MBA and a makeover for it to sit well that he was forced to share the company and the decision-making with Alessandra Dalmount. For years, she’d shown not one modicum of business savvy and suddenly she was a savant? He refused to swallow that.
Alek jumped up from his chair, causing to it to roll back and softly hit against the glass as he made his way across the expansive office. He snatched up his briefcase and pulled out his copy of her proposal. Why can’t she just go away quietly?
His hand crumpled the corner inside his fist before he flung it down onto the couch.
And why can’t I stop wondering how her mouth would taste?
“Damn,” he swore.
* * *
“Physically I am your type, Alek. I am very much your type...and you know it. Humph, it’s only my brain and my backbone that you think are a turnoff.”
She was almost right on that point.
He did want her...but he wanted her out of his business affairs more.
They were a month from celebrating the thirtieth anniversary of the conglomerate his father and Alessandra’s father had formed. Thirty years rich with a history that had to be protected and preserved. He respected the brilliance of Frances Dalmount, but his choice to make his daughter his heir had been made with his heart and not the cunning intellect he was well respected for.
Alek was intent on correcting the error.
He would rather have Alessandra Dalmount in his bedroom than his boardroom.
Perhaps I can kill two birds with one stone.
For one moment, one very brief moment, he allowed himself to imagine wooing Alessandra so much that she gave up any foolish notions of being a businesswoman. His conscience won out. He was a businessman and not a man-whore using his wares to convince women to do as he pleased.
Alessandra didn’t deserve to be his partner, but she definitely didn’t deserve to have her heart and body toyed with, either.
Alek sat down on the sofa and pulled the conference phone closer to press the intercom button. “Ms. Kingsley.”
“Sir?”
“I need to speak with each of the board members, starting with Aldrich Brent,” he said. “Call each one. Give me thirty minutes and get the next on the line.”
“Yes, sir.”
He rubbed his hands together in the moments before his phone buzzed. It was time to gauge just what side the board was going to choose. He couldn’t do anything about her ownership, but he could call for a vote for her to be officially removed as chief executive officer.
Chapter 3
Three weeks later
Alessandra closed her copies of the Wall Street Journal and New York Times and picked up her cup of lavender tea to take several deep sips before she sat it down and reached for her iPad. Enjoying the feel of the July sun blazing through the windows of her two-story penthouse apartment, she connected with the online editions of International Business Times, London’s Financial Times and Italy’s Corriere della Sera. All five newspapers were a part of her normal routine, but she preferred the feel of the print paper against her fingers as she turned the pages.
Just like her beloved books. She was still a voracious reader of those set during the Elizabethan era and had curated a small collection of rare first editions of authors of that era. There was something to be said for tradition. Respect for the past.
“You have an old soul, my Alessandra,” her father would say, and then playfully pinch her nose.
She smiled at the memory as she looked around at the French country design of her luxurious apartment with its soft muted tones, high-end furnishings, fine art and sweeping views of the Manhattan skyline. She grew up surrounded by such excess, but she had never felt at ease. Her style was simplistic. It was a part of her inheritance from her father, and she could never imagine changing the decor or getting rid of the apartment. It was just as her father had left it and he’d had it designed in the taste her mother would have loved. And so, for all its grandeur, living in the penthouse made her feel closer to them both.
Alessandra looked down the length of the table large enough to seat twelve people. Every empty chair was a reminder of her loneliness. Her longing caused an ache to radiate across her chest.
She didn’t long for more people in her life. She wasn’t even interested in dating with her focus on her career. No, Alessandra just wanted less space to echo around her.
The penthouse was a place to stay during the week while she was in Manhattan. Home was the family estate in Passion Grove, New Jersey. She smiled. Passion Grove. She absolutely loved the small town and couldn’t wait to get there on Friday evenings.
Although the vast majority of the residents were wealthy, the town was ideal for those with luxurious homes still wanting to enjoy the small-town feel. Everyone knew one another and there were many events and holidays the townspeople enjoyed together. For her, Passion Grove, with its heart-shaped lake and streets named after flowers, was ideal.
Alessandra looked up as her maid silently entered the room to begin clearing her dishes. “Tell Cook everything was delicious as always, Gia,” she said before rising from the table, setting her linen napkin atop her nearly empty plate.
Gia nodded. “I will,” she said warmly. “Have a good day, Ms. Dalmount.”
“Same to you, Gia,” she said, offering her a soft smile. “Thanks.”
Alessandra was well aware her demeanor with her staff at her various homes was different than with her staff at work. She had nothing to prove at home. No one was judging her. She could be herself, and that was thoughtful and kind. At ADG, that would be taken for weakness.
She chuckled as she used a crimson-red stiletto-shaped nail to ease her hair back behind her ear. “Elsa,” she said with another chuckle. The modern take on calling her the ice queen. Alessandra mockingly pretended to pout at the memory. When she discovered that’s what she was called behind her back, the last thing she did was “let it go.” Instead she took the chill factor up a notch. “I gave them frozen, all right.”
Her footsteps echoed against the travertine stone floors. The reminder of the emptiness of the five-bedroom apartment was deafening. She passed the door leading into her father’s palatial master suite and her own childhood bedroom still decorated in shades of baby pink and ivory with an abundance of ruffles. She had long ago selected the largest of the three guest suites, preferring the more adult decor.
She removed the white floor-length robe she wore, already missing the cool feel of the woven cotton as she lay it across the foot of the king-size upholstered bed. In the walk-in closet separating the bedroom from the en suite spa bathroom hung a row of clear garment bags. Thirty in all. Each was labeled with a date with a clear shoe container on the shelf above it.
This was the playland of her stylist, Shiva Delacroix. Alessandra just visited it daily to wear whatever ensemble Shiva had prepared for that day. Everything from undergarments to accessories were readied, making her mornings easy and sending her into corporate America ready for war as if her clothing were her armor.
Another facade.
Alessandra turned the first bag and unzipped it to remove a burnt-orange button-up blouse teamed with flared trousers with racing stripes. She tore the Polaroid photo from the bag and set it atop the island in the center of the room, before removing the clothing from the suede hangers and getting dressed. She hummed Beyoncé’s “Grown Woman” as she checked the correct fit of the clothing by the model in the photo.
She undid the buttons exposing the top of her cleavage, pushed up the sleeves to her elbows, and made sure the multi-strand gold chain she wore just barely peeked from beneath the shirt. She rushed through slipping on the leopard-print calf-hair pumps and her favorite Patek Philippe watch and grabbing the clutch Shiva selected before leaving her suite.
In the foyer, she picked up her briefcase and keys from the table as she checked her watch and left the apartment through her private entrance and elevator. It opened into the first level of her exclusive parking area.
Ding.
The doors slid open and as expected her driver, Roje, was already waiting outside her father’s black 1954 Jaguar MK VII sedan. As a little girl, she could remember standing on the porch of their mansion in Passion Grove as her dad climbed into the back and was driven to work each day. Ever since her first day of work at ADG she had used the car, as well. It felt like a full circle moment.
With a soft smile to the tall and burly man of sixty with skin as dark and smooth as midnight and a bright white goatee, she slid inside, setting her purse on the leather seat beside her. Roje was her bodyguard and her driver. She held no fear in his presence. His name was of his Jamaican heritage and meant “a person who is a guard.” It suited him perfectly.
“Shiva’s showroom, Roje,” she requested, as she let her head fall back on the seat. Her eyes drifted closed.
She wasn’t physically tired, just weary at the thought of yet another fitting.
Thursday would see the start of the extended weekend-long celebration to mark the company’s thirtieth Jubilee anniversary. It was to be held at one of ADG’s properties, the Lake House, a castle resort in upstate New York. Luncheons, picnics, art exhibits, tours, bike rides, boating, rock climbing and a charity tennis game were on the schedule. All the high-ranking executives and their families were invited, along with business colleagues and the press. The weekend would culminate in a lavish ball to officially welcome Alessandra and Alek to their positions.
She was headed into Midtown Manhattan for the final fitting of her couture Zuhair Murad gown. Alessandra turned her head on the rest to look out the tinted window at the abundance of skyscrapers and hotels as Roje maneuvered the traffic on FDR Drive. The distance between Shiva’s showroom and the ADG offices was less than ten miles, but the drive would undoubtedly take every bit of twenty-five minutes.
She’d barely carved out the time for Shiva, because her focus had been on her report for the board. Their meeting was tomorrow morning at the Lake House before the celebratory festivities were scheduled to begin. Their vote of approval was the last step to ADG’s purchasing the controlling shares in ZiCorp, the shipping company she had personally selected and vetted for acquisition. It would serve as the perfect opportunity for ADG to branch into Greece, with personnel and an established customer base in place. She and her team had addressed every possible issue that might arise and any concern the board could have. Months of arduous work would hopefully pay off. The company was in solid shape and would be nothing but an asset to ADG, with a return on the purchase price of controlling shares of ZiCorp projected to be recouped within a year.
During her training time at ADG Alessandra had chosen to focus on mergers and acquisitions, particularly in the areas of favorable purchase price, market movement and successful integration techniques. This was the first deal she had managed, but it was solid.
She wanted to beat Alek. To humble him. To prove him wrong.
To earn his respect.
No. She purposefully pushed any thought of him aside, closing her eyes and shaking her head a bit to free her mind of any thought of the handsome—yet infuriating—rogue. He took up enough time in her life antagonizing her during the day and invading her dreams with wild thoughts at night.
“Ms. Dalmount.”
Alessandra opened her eyes. They were double-parked on Seventh Avenue outside the eighteen-story building where Shiva had set up a showroom for her impressive roster of clients. Usually, Shiva would come to her for measurements or fittings, but on occasion Alessandra preferred the normalcy of going to the showroom.
Roje now stood with the rear door open and his hand already outstretched to her. Picking up her purse, she accepted his assistance as she stepped onto the street. “Thank you,” she said, easing through the pedestrians, tourists and locals alike, who moved up and down the street with speed. “I shouldn’t be more than an hour, Roje.”
“Yes, ma’am,” he said, stepping ahead of her to open the glass door leading into the beautifully tiled lobby.
Alessandra rode one of the four elevators of the beautiful office building to the third floor. Through the glass wall and the double doors of the entrance to Shiva’s showroom, she took in the two thousand square feet of loft-style space lined with clothing racks and adorned mannequins with bright light streaming in from the windows.
She smiled and waved at Shiva, who was looking on as one of her three assistants adjusted the hem of an emerald satin strapless gown on a woman standing before a wall of mirrors.
“I’ll be right with you, Alessandra,” Shiva said, kneeling to lift the hem and then release it.
The woman before the mirror turned to look over her shoulder. She was a tall, caramel-skinned beauty with shoulder-length auburn hair and hazel eyes. She smiled at her as if they knew each other.
They did not.
Alessandra sat her clutch on the low-slung white leather couch running along the glass wall as she eyed her. The woman was stunning, and that would be a fact in or out of her beautiful formfitting dress.
“I see Shiva will be styling us both for the ball,” she said with a friendly grin and an accent that was English.
Alessandra stiffened and offered her a cool smile. “And you are?” she asked politely.
“Millicent... Alek’s date for the weekend,” she answered smoothly.
Alessandra fought not to frown. A date? He would.
“See you tomorrow then,” she said, deliberately softening her tone because it wasn’t the woman’s fault Alek was a philanderer who couldn’t stand to attend an event without arm candy.
“Okay, Milli, you’re all set,” Shiva said, raking her fingers through her waist-length jet-black hair. “If you go get changed, we’ll package the dress for you to take with you.”
Millicent smiled and showed perfect teeth before she lifted the dress and carefully walked to the rear of the showroom to the curtained-off dressing room area. The woman looked like Jessica Rabbit.