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Stepping out of the car, he nodded at the men in greeting. They gave him the once-over and grunted in response. Dante strode through the front doors and into the sunny foyer.
Taking off his sunglasses, he wrinkled his nose. The air held the scent of onions, the reception area looked in need of an extreme makeover, and tenants were standing around waiting for the elevator, complaining about management, the recent string of apartment break-ins and last month’s exorbitant rent increase.
Seconds passed, then minutes, but there was no sign of the elevator.
Growing impatient, Dante stalked through the lobby and ducked into the stairwell. Hearing his iPhone ring, he stopped in his tracks and retrieved it from his pocket. He read the name on the screen, and his eyes thinned and his face hardened like stone. Now she wants to call back. Almost two hours later? Is Lourdes out of her damn mind?
Fuming, he put his cell to his ear and gave voice to his anger. “Where the hell have you been?” he demanded, unable to govern his temper. “Ms. Papadopoulos called me in a panic because you forgot to pick up Matteo. What’s the matter with you? Are you trying to get us in trouble with Child and Family Services?”
Lourdes yawned, then spoke in a drowsy voice. “I’m sorry. I dozed off while watching TV and I just woke up a few minutes ago.”
“Where’s Nayoko?”
“I had to fire her. She was stealing from me.”
“Sure she was,” Dante grumbled, shaking his head in disbelief. This wasn’t the first time Lourdes had fired a nanny, and it probably wouldn’t be the last. His ex-wife loved playing the victim and would do anything for attention, even make up stories about her staff.
“It’s the truth. Why would I lie?”
Because you’re a habitual liar, he thought but didn’t say. “I called you more than a dozen times. You didn’t hear your cell phone ringing off the hook?”
“It hasn’t been working properly.”
Dante didn’t believe her. He was tired of her lies and half-truths. He couldn’t stomach more of her bullshit today. “Did you go to the bar at lunch? Is that why you forgot to pick up Matteo? Because you’re drunk?”
The silence was deafening, and it confirmed his worst fears. Fighting with Lourdes wasn’t the answer; it wouldn’t solve anything. But he had to get through to her. “Tell me the truth.”
“I just did.”
Dante wanted answers, and he wasn’t letting Lourdes off the hook until she came clean. Since the divorce, he’d tried to keep the peace, to be the bigger person, but not this time. He had to speak his mind. “You need to get yourself together. Matteo should be your number one priority, not drinking or your stupid friends.”
“I said I’m sorry.”
“Sorry isn’t good enough.”
“We can’t all be perfect like you,” she shot back, her tone heavy with sarcasm. “So quit giving me a hard time for being human, and let me talk to my son—”
“This isn’t about being perfect. This is about being a good parent.”
“I messed up. There, I said it. Is that what you want to hear? Happy now?”
Dante cocked an eyebrow. Did I hear her right? Lourdes never, ever owned up to her mistakes, even when she was wrong. His ears had to be playing tricks on him.
“None of this would’ve happened if you’d paid for me to have a chauffeured car.”
Cha-ching! Shaking his head, he stared down at his cell phone with disgust. It didn’t matter what the issue was, Lourdes always found a way to make it about money. Up to her neck in debt, she couldn’t afford to maintain her extravagant lifestyle, and she expected him to continue supporting her. Hell, no. Lourdes was spoiled, and he refused to indulge her every whim. Matteo didn’t need a chauffeured car, or three live-in nannies, or any of the other expensive crap she wanted money for. Her monthly alimony check was more than the average person earned in a year, and he wasn’t giving her another dime. “If you want a chauffeured car, then pay for it yourself,” he snapped. “Pick up Matteo on time—”
“Don’t tell me what to do. You’re not the boss of me, and I don’t have to listen to you.”
“This isn’t about me. This is about doing what’s best for our son.”
“You’re not my husband anymore, remember? I dumped you for a real man...”
The insult hit him like a fist to the gut. There were hard feelings on both sides, years of pent-up anger and frustration, but Dante held his tongue. He knew the truth and that was all that mattered. During their marriage, he’d honored his vows, and respected her as his spouse. Unfortunately, Lourdes couldn’t say the same.
“What time are you bringing Matteo home?”
“Why? It’s not like you care about him...” Realizing his mistake, he winced and slammed his mouth shut. It was too late; the damage had been done. The line went dead, and guilt troubled his conscience.
Ending the call, Dante chastised himself for losing his cool. Lourdes brought out the worst in him, always had, but he had no right to disrespect her. He’d apologize later, when he dropped Matteo off, and then he’d have an honest talk with her about his concerns. Lourdes had to do better, had to start putting their son first or... Dante trailed off, couldn’t finish his sentence.
Or what? questioned his inner voice. What are you going to do? Quit your high-paying, jet-setting job and become a stay-at-home dad?
The thought was outrageous, laughable even, but Dante didn’t chuckle. There was nothing funny about his predicament. He was worried about his son’s well-being and needed sound advice. But not from Emilio and Immanuel. His brothers were living the American dream, so happy in love they talked about their significant others nonstop. Dante didn’t want to hear about how wonderful their partners were. Not when Lourdes was making his life a living hell. He had to talk to Markos, and the sooner the better.
On the fourth floor, Dante stopped in front of apartment 4B and rang the buzzer.
The door swung open and Matteo jumped into his arms. “Daddy!”
Chuckling, Dante held him tight and spun him around the hallway.
“Faster, Daddy! Faster!”
Dante obliged, and his son shrieked with laughter. The sound warmed his heart, made him feel like the world’s best dad. Matteo was his number one concern, the only person in his life who truly mattered, and he’d do anything to make him happy. He looked adorable in his navy blue uniform, like the spitting image of his grandfather, but with dark, curly hair.
“Daddy, where’s Mommy? She forgot to pick me up from school today.”
“Mommy’s at home, li’l man. You’ll see her later.”
“Great timing. Dinner’s almost ready.”
Dante put Matteo down and faced Jordana. Her smile blinded him with its light. His pulse sped up. In a city overrun with females addicted to plastic surgery, it was refreshing to see a natural woman. Her beauty boggled his mind, leaving him tongue-tied and weak in the knees. Even in a tie-dye shirt and denim shorts, Jordana was stunning. She looked pretty and youthful in her outfit, and smelled like heaven. She had eyes a man could get lost in, tawny skin dotted with freckles and a shapely physique. Dante loved how lush and thick her hair was, and his hands itched to play in her chocolate-brown curls. She’d been blessed with model features and a banging body, but she wasn’t a snob. Everywhere Jordana went she made friends and men tripped over themselves to meet her. Even A-list celebrities.
“I’m starving,” Dante said, patting his empty stomach. “What’s on the menu?”
“Squash soup, kale-almond salad and chickpea burgers.”
He wrinkled his nose. “I just lost my appetite.”
“Oh, stop. Vegan food is to die for.”
“Yeah, if you’re stranded on a deserted island.”
“You’re not happy unless you’re eating a hundred-dollar steak. But don’t come crying to me the next time we go to a fancy five-star Beverly Hills restaurant and you get chest pains.”
“I didn’t get chest pains because of the food.” Dante winked, flashing her a mischievous grin to make her laugh. “It was that sexy little hostess in the see-through dress. What a hottie!”
Jordana stuck out her tongue, and Dante chuckled. His gaze zeroed in on her mouth, lingering there for a beat. Those are some lips, he thought, wishing they were pressed against his. He liked how plump they were, how moist and juicy they looked.
Catching himself, he tore his eyes away from her face. They were friends and nothing more, and that would never change. Jordana was like a sister to him—
Bullshit! argued his inner voice. Sister, my ass! You want her bad, and the only reason you haven’t made a play for her is because she’s still in love with her ex.
“Dad, can we stay for dinner? Please?” Matteo begged. “I just love cheeseburgers.”
“That depends. Were you a good boy for Jordana?”
“No,” she said sadly, shaking her head. “He was horrible.”
“He was?”
“Yup. The worst.”
Dante spoke in a stern voice. “You have some explaining to do, young man.”
Eyes wide with alarm, Matteo glanced frantically from his dad to Jordana. “I didn’t mean to spill grape juice on the carpet,” he said, shuffling his feet. “It was an accident, but I cleaned it up right away. Tell him, Jordana. Tell my dad I was a good boy.”
“You weren’t good,” she said, ruffling his curly hair. “You were great.”
Matteo cheered. “Dad, did you bring me something back from King Kong?”
“I went to Hong Kong,” Dante said with a laugh. “King Kong is a character in a movie.”
“Oops!” Giggling, he spun around and took off running back inside the apartment.
Jordana waved him inside and closed the door. “Have you heard from Lourdes?” she whispered, her features touched with concern. “Is she okay?”
“Apparently she fell asleep and just woke up a few minutes ago.”
“You don’t believe her?”
“No, she’s a compulsive liar who can’t be trusted.”
“Don’t be so hard on her. Everyone has a bad day.”
Following her down the hallway, he sniffed the air. A spicy aroma tickled his nose, and his stomach grumbled. Dante hated vegan food, but the apartment smelled so good his mouth watered with hungry anticipation.
“How’s the sweatshop?” he asked jokingly. After six years of being a nanny, Jordana had quit to pursue a career in acting. But after months of pounding the pavement with no luck, she’d accepted a job at a telemarketing agency. Dante loved independent women, but it bothered him that she didn’t tell him about her financial troubles. Typical Jordana. She’d rather suffer in silence than accept help. Her I’m-every-woman attitude drove him crazy. He loved showering his family and friends with gifts, and he wanted to spoil Jordana, too, but she wouldn’t let him. “Are you still thinking about quitting?”
“Every second of every day,” she quipped, entering the kitchen. Sliding on her cooking mitts, she bent over, opened the oven and took out the casserole dish. “It’s paying the bills, so I’m trying not to complain.”
“Come work for me.” It was a struggle to be a gentleman, but Dante kept his eyes on the wall clock and off her delicious backside. He’d never seen a pair of jean shorts look better, and he liked how they elongated her long brown legs. “I could use another executive assistant, and I think you’d be an asset to The Brokerage Group.”
“I’d never fit in at your company.”
“Why not? You’re smart, and beautiful, and—”
“Curvy,” she added, with a flick of her head. “You only hire tall, thin, surgically enhanced blondes, and that’s not me. Besides, my dream is to be an actress, not an executive assistant. I suck at answering phones, and I don’t know how to make coffee.”
“I don’t drink coffee. I drink tea.”
“Tea?” Jordana wore a funny face. “And you say you’re not a metrosexual? Right!”
Chuckling, he leaned against the wall and crossed his arms. Watching Jordana move around the kitchen made Dante think of all the times he’d returned home from work and found Lourdes and Matteo baking cookies.
Memories of happier days flashed in his mind. Playing soccer in the backyard, swimming, reading him bedtime stories. Dante talked big, pretended he didn’t need anyone, but he missed having his family around. That’s why he worked nonstop and traveled as much as he did. Work helped him forget his pain, his loneliness. Feeling a pang of sadness, he shook off his thoughts and wiped at his eyes with his fingertips.
“Here,” Jordana said, raising a silver serving spoon in the air. “Try this. It’s amazing.”
The soup was thick, seasoned with Italian herbs and filled with vegetables. It smelled good, like his grandmother’s tortellini stew. Since Dante was starving, he opened his mouth wide. He puckered his lips and scrunched up his nose. Swallowing hard, he forced the liquid down his throat, then rubbed a hand across his chest to alleviate the burning sensation.
“What do you think?”
“I think you should let me take you out for dinner.”
Her face fell. “You don’t like it?”
No, but I like you. You’re sweet and considerate, and you’re great with my son.
“Oh, well, it’s your loss, because my squash soup is not only healthy but delicious.”
“I’d rather have a hundred-dollar steak.”
Jordana pointed at the hallway. “Get out, before I throw you out!”
Dante chuckled. He wanted to talk to Jordana about his argument with Lourdes, but the kitchen was small and cramped, and he didn’t want to crowd her. Matteo was sitting at the kitchen table, coloring in his Batman-themed sketch pad. Seeing his son happy made Dante smile. “Fine,” he said. “I’m going to go watch the Royals game.”
“Knock yourself out.”
Exiting the kitchen, he admired the pictures hanging on the walls. The two-bedroom apartment was filled with knickknacks and secondhand furniture. But since his mother had taught him not to look down on people, he took a seat on the battered beige couch and swiped the remote control off the coffee table. Pointing it at the flat-screen TV, he searched for the baseball game on one of the local stations. His favorite sport was boxing, but since his cousin Demetri Morretti was the biggest baseball star on the planet, and also one of his wealthiest clients, Dante made a point to watch his games.
A sly grin warmed his mouth. They used to party like rock stars, but now that his cousin was happily married to his newscaster wife, Dante rarely saw him. He was looking forward to seeing his brothers and cousins at the end of July at the RaShawn Bishop Celebrity Golf tournament in Tampa. He was planning an impromptu bachelor party for Immanuel as well, and he couldn’t wait to see the look on his brother’s face when the exotic dancers he’d secretly booked stormed his hotel suite. Immanuel was tying the knot at the end of the year, and Dante wanted him to live it up one last time before his walk down the aisle.
“I swear, if I wasn’t madly in love with my boyfriend, I’d dump him and marry you!”
Dante cranked his head to the right, and spotted Jordana’s roommate standing in the hallway. He nodded his head in greeting. Waverly Burke was a heavy-set brunette in her midtwenties who looked decades older. She liked to flirt, and seemed to get a kick out of shocking him.
“I bought LA Business magazine yesterday and almost passed out when I saw the pictures of your new Bel Air estate. I knew you were rich, but I had no idea you were that rich.” Her eyes were wide with wonder, and she spoke in a reverent tone. “I still don’t understand what you do, though. Is a real estate developer like an architect?”
“No. My job is to purchase existing and undeveloped real estate properties and sell or lease the building for a profit.”
“Sounds risky. What if something goes wrong, or the property doesn’t sell?”
“That’s all part of the job. But with great risk comes great reward,” Dante said, repeating his personal mantra. “I work my ass off to ensure that doesn’t happen, and my persistence and determination has served me well in this cutthroat business.”
“I’d say. You’re rich and famous and your mansion is bigger than the White House!”
Jordana poked her head into the room. “Money isn’t everything, Waverly. Celebrities have fears and insecurities just like the rest of us, if not more.”
That’s right, Jordana. Tell her! The more money I make, the more problems I have.
“As if. Deciding what to wear to a movie premiere is hardly a serious dilemma.”
“I was a nanny for several high-profile couples, and trust me, being an A-lister is not as glamorous as it seems. They have zero privacy, and everything they say and do is scrutinized.”
Waverly snorted. “Wah, wah, wah. Cry me a river. That’s what they signed up for!”
“You’re not being fair.”
“Spare me. Celebrities have the best of everything, but they’re always bitching and complaining about how hard life is. Ugh. Rich people make me sick.” Her cheeks turned beet red, and a sheepish expression appeared on her face. “Present company excluded of course.”
Jordana caught Dante’s eye and mouthed, “Be nice. She’s my best friend.”
Nodding, he smiled to assure her everything was okay. And it was. Dante was used to women talking crazy and asking him personal questions, especially about Emilio—one of the best race-car drivers of all time—so he didn’t take offense to her roommate’s comments. Waverly was hilarious, outspoken and brash, and Dante wanted to get to know her better.
Yeah, agreed his inner voice. So she can help you win over Jordana!
“Is it true you have five brothers?” Waverly asked.
“Yes, and three are single.”
Waverly licked her lips. “Do tell.”
“Romeo is an investment banker based in Milan, Enrique is an entrepreneur with a slew of successful exotic-car dealerships in Europe and Markos is a celebrity divorce lawyer here in LA.”
“I’ll take the divorce attorney,” she said quickly, with a girlish laugh. “Mrs. Waverly Morretti sounds classy and sophisticated, don’t you think?”
“One tall, dark and handsome attorney coming right up!”
The women cracked up, and the sound made his chest puff up with pride. Dante loved making Jordana laugh, and would poke fun at himself just to see her smile. Always positive and upbeat, she was a light who glowed from within, and he enjoyed spending time with her—even though her heart belonged to another man.
“Dinner’s served,” Jordana announced, gesturing to the table. “Let’s eat. I’m famished.”
“You guys go ahead.” Dante found the Chicago Royals game on TV, used the remote control to increase the volume, and scanned the dugout for his cousin. “I’m not hungry.”
Her eyes narrowed, darkened. “You’re still expected to sit at the table.”
By whom? he thought, confused by her words. “I’m watching the game.”
Planting her hands on her hips, she flashed him an are-you-out-of-your-mind expression and Dante knew he was in trouble. He’d seen her angry only once—when he’d “accidentally” deposited money into her bank account—and he shuddered at the memory of their explosive argument on Christmas Eve. She’d returned the money, after cursing him out in English and Spanish. To this day he still didn’t understand why she’d gone ballistic on him.
“My house, my rules,” she quipped, pointing at an empty chair. “Now, sit.”
Her bossy, take-charge attitude made his erection rise and his mouth wet. Jordana was a freethinker who wasn’t afraid to speak her mind, and Dante enjoyed her fiery, spirited personality. They couldn’t be more different, and had nothing in common. Logical and decisive, Dante knew what he wanted out of life, where he was going and how to get there. Jordana, on the other hand, was still finding herself. She was as carefree as a butterfly in the wind. “You’re too pretty to be so mean,” he joked, hoping to make her laugh. “Be nice, Jordana, or I’ll call your mom and tell her you’re bullying me!”
Jordana’s scowl deepened, wrinkling her smooth skin, but Waverly cracked up.
“Good one,” she said. “And if you need her mom’s number just let me know.”
Hearing his cell phone beep, he took it out of his pocket. The text was from Lourdes, and she wasn’t happy. Reading her message annoyed him. For the second time that evening Dante wondered what he’d ever seen in the celebrity hairstylist.
Where are you? Bring Matteo home now or else...
A scowl curled his lips. Lourdes had some nerve telling him what to do. But since he wanted to keep the peace, he stood, took his car keys out of his back pocket and switched off the television. “I better take Matteo home. It’s a school night.”
“I understand.” Jordana nodded, dropping her hands at her sides. “Maybe next time.”
“But I don’t want to go. I want to stay for dessert.”
Crouching beside Matteo’s chair, she smiled and touched his cheek. “You can take some brownies with you. How does that sound?”
“Great!” Beaming, Matteo gathered his things, throwing them inside his backpack.
“Thanks again, Jordana. I owe you one.”
“No problem. That’s what friends are for.”
Minutes later, Dante left the apartment with Matteo in tow, carrying a container filled with vegan brownies. As they boarded the elevator, Dante noticed Jordana waving at them, and he smiled in return. He loved her energy, how bubbly and effervescent she was, and as the elevator doors slid closed a curious thought—one he’d had many times in recent months—popped into his mind. Why couldn’t I have married someone like Jordana? Someone warm and loving and caring who puts others’ needs above her own?
It’s not too late, said his inner voice, drowning out the doubts playing in his mind. Make your move and let the chips fall where they may.
Dante rejected the thought, refusing to consider it. Jordana was smart, with a great head on her shoulders, but they could never be a couple. There were just some things a man didn’t do, especially a man of his stature, and hooking up with a friend’s ex was one of them. He desired her, sure, but some rules weren’t meant to be broken.
Chapter 3
Jordana was miserable, more depressed than a high school senior without a prom date, and her telemarketing job was the reason why. Only three hours into her shift, and she wanted to go home and crawl into bed. Massaging her temples, she kicked off her gold ballet flats, and took a moment to gather herself. Ringing telephones, animated chatter and country music filled the air. The incessant noise inside LA Marketing Enterprises made it hard for her to think.
Her thoughts wandered, returning to the conversation she’d had with the loud, hostile Texan minutes earlier. Making fundraising calls on behalf of charitable organizations was an honorable endeavor, something to be proud of, but Jordana was tired of being a human punching bag. People insulted her on a daily basis, calling her horrible, vulgar names. But she couldn’t defend herself. She’d worked numerous jobs since moving to LA, everything from waitressing to babysitting and tutoring, but nothing was more intolerable than being a telemarketer.
What have I done? What was I thinking? Why did I leave my cushy job with the Robinson family? The weight of her despair was crushing, but there was nothing Jordana could do about it. Not unless I want to be homeless, she thought glumly, feeling her shoulders sag. A year ago, she was a live-in nanny, taking care of an autistic child in Bel Air, and although she loved the two-year-old boy as if he were her own, she hated the long hours. She couldn’t attend casting calls, lost touch with her girlfriends and rarely had days off. For that reason, she’d resigned, moved in with her best friend, Waverly Burke, and decided to pursue her dreams wholeheartedly. Her agent, Fallon O’Neal, was sweet, but tough when she had to be. Jordana knew the former child star had her best interests in heart.
Jordana straightened in her chair, and adjusted her headset. Slapping a smile on her face, she greeted the caller. “Hello, Mr. Okafor,” she said, with fake enthusiasm. “How are you doing this morning?”