“What’s wrong, hon?” he asked in a hoarse voice. “Why are we stopping?”

“Because it’s not a good idea. We shouldn’t be doing this.”

“Why not?”

“Because I work for you. It could get uncomfortable.”

“To hell with uncomfortable. Tell me you don’t like what I’m doing.”

His lips grazed the side of her neck, nipping and sucking. She was pulsing all over, uncontrollably.

Kennedy’s fingers dug into Salim’s back, squeezing and kneading the hard muscles. His hands were on her butt now, bringing her closer to him until she could feel his hardness and hear his raspy breaths in her ear. The feel and smell of him excited her.

“I want to make love to you,” he said gruffly.

“We shouldn’t.”

MARCIA KING-GAMBLE

is a national bestselling author, and a former travel-industry executive. She’s lived in five different states and has traveled to some of the more exotic parts of the world. The Far East, Venice and New Zealand are still her favorites.

She enjoys a good workout, is passionate about animals, old houses and tearjerker movies. Marcia is also the editor of a monthly newsletter entitled Marcia’s Romantically Yours. Log on to her Web site, www.lovemarcia.com, and find out what she’s all about.

Tempting the Mogul
Marcia King-Gamble

www.millsandboon.co.uk

This one’s for Shanna Eilers—

my Pacific Northwest Connection and breakfast pal.

Dear Reader,

Seattle has always been a favorite city, and even though I’ve traveled the world, it still remains one of my top-ten places. It just might have something to do with me landing there right out of flight-attendant school back in the day.

Last year I had the opportunity to return to this city for an extended period of time. I found much had changed, yet my love affair began all over again. Seattle is simply the kind of place that calls to you because of its beauty and tolerance of different lifestyles.

Therefore you can only imagine how excited I was to pen a series set in this wonderful city. My biggest challenge was crafting my heroine’s personality because she is organized, orderly and totally unemotional—very different from me. I had fun with the whole process of her becoming unraveled when she fell in love.

If you’ve enjoyed reading this book, keep in mind there are two more books in the Get a Life series. I am currently working on the second. While you’re waiting, consider taking a little vacation, and put Seattle on your list. You’ll fall in love with the Emerald City just as I have.

Romantically yours,

Marcia King-Gamble

Contents

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 1

“Hey, where are you going with my car?” Kennedy Fitzgerald shouted, racing after the tow truck backing out of her driveway that had her precious Honda attached; the Honda she planned on paying off in full next week.

A few tendrils escaped the headband Kennedy had used to pull her hair back. In a frustrated motion she swept them off her face before flailing her arms at the driver. “You have no right to take my car! I’ve been making monthly payments!”

The tow truck driver spotting her came to a halt. He wound down his window and peered out. “Look, lady, I’m just doing my job. Pay your car note and the finance company won’t repossess your car. It’s the way things work.”

“Pay my note? What are you talking about?” Kennedy shouted. She could feel her face heating up. “I pay my bills on time, way before they’re due. Why am I explaining this to you?”

“Tell the story to the bank. Don’t beat up the messenger.”

Through his open window the driver flipped her a business card. It floated to the ground. As Kennedy bent to retrieve it he floored the accelerator, and zoomed off with her vehicle attached.

“Miss, you owe me forty-five dollars,” the cabdriver who’d been unloading her luggage carped. He’d been watching the action from a safe distance.

Kennedy let out a deep sigh and peeled off a few bills, folding them into the man’s open palm. Wait until she got her hands on her cousin Marna. How could she let this happen?

“Can I have a receipt?” Kennedy asked the driver.

He fumbled through several piles of paper and found a preprinted receipt. Where is Marna anyway? Why hadn’t she come out to greet her and help her unload? She had to have heard the taxi pull up, or at the very least the noisy tow truck.

Marna had been living with Kennedy rent free. In exchange for not paying rent, she’d agreed to take care of the triplex and collect the rent from the other apartments. This money was to be used to pay Kennedy’s bills while she was gone—including the car note.

To make it easier for the money to be deposited, Kennedy had asked her tenants to write checks directly to Marna. She’d instructed her to collect the rent checks on the first of the month from each tenant and deposit them in the joint account they’d opened up.

Knowing that a real person was responsible for collecting checks and depositing the money in an account had given Kennedy peace of mind. She’d left for her assignment in Tokyo feeling confident that her bills would be paid and her house cared for. For six months she’d been coaching Japanese executives on how business was done in America. She’d taught the Japanese everything from social etiquette to how to dress. The position had come with an attractive salary, plus housing. It had also come at exactly the right time.

The Fortune 500 company Kennedy had been working for was downsizing like crazy. When a headhunter called, she’d eagerly listened to his sales pitch. She was single with no dependents, and had a dual master’s in Japanese and industrial psychology. Why not?

All in all, not many thirty-year-old African-Americans got a sweet deal like that. Kennedy had it all planned out. When she returned to Seattle she’d go into business for herself. She’d hang out a shingle advertising her services as a bilingual life coach and corporate trainer.

The sky was an unusual blue for Seattle. Cerulean blue, instead of blue-gray. A cool breeze ruffled the budding trees and in the distance, Kennedy saw the snowcapped mountain peaks she’d missed so much and loved to hike.

She stabbed a finger at the buzzer and waited for Marna to come bounding down the stairs and help her with all her bags. Finally, growing impatient, she let herself in through the side entrance.

Behind her, even though it was the end of May, the tulips were still in full bloom. The yard outside the triplex needed weeding and she wondered why Marna hadn’t called the gardener as she’d been told to do.

“Do you need a hand?” a male voice asked, behind her.

Kennedy turned to find her downstairs tenant—a techie type—eyeing her curiously. “Yes, Ed, that would be great.”

“How was your trip?” he asked, scooping up two of her bags as if they weighed nothing.

“Long, but I got a lot of work done so that was good.”

“You liked working with Japanese businesspeople?”

Kennedy tried not to yawn. Jet lag was quickly setting in and she was in no mood for stupid questions. “Loved it. I got to use both my Japanese and organizational development skills. It was fun teaching American business protocol.”

Kennedy started up the stairs to her apartment carrying the lightest of the suitcases. Underfoot in the foyer and hallways the Berber carpets were stained and smelly. She did not own a dog, but there was a definite ‘doggie’ scent to the place.

Ed snorted and filled her in. “Wow! That rottie your cousin had in here really wasn’t toilet trained.”

Her head began to ache. “What rottie?”

One of her strengths was remaining cool, calm and collected. She taught people how to cope with unexpected life-changing events. Therefore she should easily be able to deal with this.

“Marna’s dog, Lulu,” Ed said. “I told her the dog was bored and needed toys.”

“Since when does Marna have a dog?” Kennedy threw over her shoulder.

Ed shrugged. “Oops! Talk about open mouth and insert foot. Lulu’s a stray Marna found wandering the streets. She’s a sweetheart but totally untrained. She ran Marna.”

Kennedy sucked in a breath while using the green key to unlock the top lock. “Where is Marna anyway?”

“Uh, didn’t she call you?”

Kennedy narrowed her eyes and again looked at Ed. Mentally she counted to ten. “Why would Marna need to call me? She knew when I was coming home. I e-mailed her.”

“Did she e-mail you back? That’s better than what she’s been doing to me.”

Come to think of it, Marna hadn’t responded but Kennedy had thought nothing of it. Her cousin was notoriously scatterbrained and always acted as if she was overwhelmed.

Ed set down Kennedy’s two bags. “You should be good to go from here.”

“Uh-uh. Not until you tell me what you know.”

Ed was beet red. He wore the uncomfortable expression of a man caught between rock and granite. He shuffled from one foot to another.

“Ed,” Kennedy groused. “Better fess up if you know what’s good for you. Seattle’s rentals are pretty steep and you’ve got a great deal as my tenant.”

Ed exhaled loudly. “Never thought you’d be a fan of bribery. Marna’s been gone for almost three months. Some kind of an emergency came up and she had to leave.”

Kennedy’s throat closed down. She tried to control the wheezing sounds coming from her nose and the buzzing in her ears. She was close to hyperventilating. “Then how on earth have you and the Dopwells on the second floor been paying your rent?”

“Marna told us to send the rent to a P.O. box.”

“What! Better give me that box number.”

“No problem, I’ll get it to you.”

Kennedy’s temples were pounding. She could not allow herself to get out of control. There had to be a logical explanation to it all. She kept thinking of her silver car that had just been repossessed. Was the triplex that she’d saved so hard to buy on the brink of foreclosure, too? How many months late was everything anyway? She’d need to call the bank immediately.

The minute she pushed open her top-floor apartment door, Kennedy knew she had her hands full. A damp, stagnant odor almost knocked her over. The rott-weiler had left her mark here, as well. Kennedy flipped on the lights and braced herself. The suitcase she was holding fell from her limp fingers, making a dull thud. She felt Ed’s steadying hands on her shoulders as she surveyed the destruction.

“Sit and I’ll get you a glass of water,” he proposed.

Unable to answer him, Kennedy just gaped. Her beautiful place was in ruins. The Persian carpets were a mess and the sofa she was still paying for had ugly yellow markings. She shuddered thinking about what those stains were. Her lovely wooden floors were scratched. The baseboards and moldings had been chewed on.

No wonder Marna had bailed before Kennedy came home and killed her.

Ed lined up the suitcases in the foyer and hastily opened up windows. A cool spring breeze soon filled the interior. It wasn’t enough to camouflage the smell.

“Airing the place out should help,” he announced, his voice chipper. “It’ll be too much for you to do alone but tomorrow you can call a cleaning service.”

Kennedy exhaled loudly and willed herself to calm down. She’d been named after John F. Kennedy, the thirty-fifth president of the United States, and a man her mother thought walked on water. She’d liked that he promoted equal rights and world peace. But Kennedy’s thoughts right now were anything but peaceful.

“I can stick around and help you straighten up,” Ed offered.

“You’ve done enough. Just get me that mailbox address and I’ll take it from here.” She thanked him and walked with him to the door.

“I really don’t mind helping,” Ed insisted. “In fact I would be glad to do what I can.”

“You’re sweet, but no. I need to do this alone.”

After he left Kennedy wandered through what she playfully called her penthouse, assessing and itemizing the damage. Many of her personal possessions would have to be dumped. They’d been either chewed or soiled on. She began a list of things she needed to do first thing tomorrow.

She’d need to call someone in to clean the carpet in the bedroom and the living room’s upholstery. She’d have to find someone to look at the wooden floors and see what could be done about them.

Kennedy glanced at the blinking answering machine. All of her friends and family knew that she’d been in Tokyo. They knew how to reach her via e-mail or cell phone. She’d entrusted her cousin on her mother’s side, to house sit and pay her bills. Marna was between jobs and needed a place to live. She seemed grateful for the small income Kennedy was willing to pay.

Kennedy had had some trepidation about turning over a responsible job like collecting rent, and bill paying to a flake. She would have much preferred her brothers to take on the task, but Lincoln lived in Eastern Washington, too far away to be tracking down rent checks, or so he’d said. He had a brand new baby and didn’t have the time or inclination to be playing landlord.

Roosevelt who lived in Edmonds, much closer, had urged Kennedy to give Marna a chance. He was holding down two jobs and felt he had a roof over his head and an income coming in. Marna didn’t. He’d also promised to keep an eye on their cousin. Given what had gone down that hadn’t happened. Marna had botched the job that she’d claimed she badly needed. Now she’d turned Kennedy’s orderly life into a nightmare. Why, oh why, hadn’t she listened to her gut?

Kennedy was so angry she jabbed the answering machine’s rewind button with more force than she intended. Surprisingly, the machine wasn’t full and the few calls recorded were from telemarketers. Toward the end there was one call that made her pause.

She rewound it, listening carefully. A woman identified herself as Diane, the assistant to the president of TSW Studios, wanted Kennedy to return her call ASAP.

What would a television station want with me? Yes, she’d heard of Tanner Washington, the studio’s owner, but she and he didn’t move in the same circles. He was notoriously low profile and never even allowed himself to be photographed. Kennedy had never seen him. Curiosity prompted Kennedy to scribble down the number. She’d call Diane tomorrow.

Jet lag was beginning to kick in when Kennedy made her phone call to the bank where she had her mortgage. She navigated the voice activation maze and finally got a living, breathing person.

“Ms. Fitzpatrick,” a stern-sounding service representative said, “you’re two months late on your mortgage. In another month you’ll be in foreclosure.”

Even though she’d been expecting something like this, the cold hand of fear grabbed her heart. She was so angry she could spit. Her precious triplex that she loved, and had worked her butt off to buy, was in danger of being sold to someone else.

Kennedy started to ramble and make excuses, then caught herself. The representative didn’t need to hear her problems, nor did she care.

“What will it take to get current?” she asked quickly.

The woman named a figure. Kennedy did some mental calculations. She should have enough in her savings to make that payment and bring her mortgage up to date. She also had a rather hefty check in her purse. She’d insisted that the Japanese pay her in U.S. dollars, and she’d planned on depositing that check tomorrow. She’d just need to find some way to get to the bank.

Her world was toppling down around her and it seemed as though there was nothing she could do to stop it. She’d tossed the tow truck driver’s card in her purse. His company would be the next place to call. She needed wheels to take care of business and get her life back in order.

“Is there anything else I can help you with?” the customer service representative asked, reminding Kennedy she was still on the line.

“Can you take my mortgage payment over the phone? Will that payment register today?”

“I’ll have to transfer you to our account services department,” the woman said, sounding smooth as silk. “As you know your account is delinquent.”

Forty minutes later, Kennedy finally hung up with the credit manager. It had taken some explaining, even pleading, but at least she was now paid to date. She’d coughed up the money for the hefty finance and late charges, but she was certain that her credit score had taken a beating. It would take years for her to rebuild good credit.

Several months of rent checks, money she’d counted on to take care of her bills, had disappeared along with Marna. The excess money she’d hoped to have in her bank account would now be used up to pay off delinquent bills. She’d thought she was doing a good deed helping Marna. What was the saying? No good deed went unpunished.

Kennedy’s head continued to pound as she punched in the number for Joe’s Towing. She was placed on an interminable hold only to have an automated voice tell her she was calling outside regular business hours.

“Dammit!” she muttered, hanging up.

As she was close to tossing the receiver across the room, the phone rang in her hand.

“Hello?” she tried not to growl.

“Yes, I need Kennedy Fitzgerald, please?” a female voice she didn’t recognize said.

“This is she,” Kennedy said. Please let it not be a creditor.

“Ms. Fitzgerald, I’m Diane, assistant to Tanner Washington, the president of TSW Studios. He’s been hoping to speak to you.”

Trying to make up for her less than friendly greeting, Kennedy said, “Can you tell me what this is about?”

“Mr. Washington would prefer to discuss the issue in person. He learned through a source that you’re back in town. Since the matter is of some urgency, he’s wondering if you could meet him at the studio tomorrow morning, say around eleven?”

Midmorning would give Kennedy enough time to go to the bank and contact the towing company again. Maybe she would even have a car.

“I’ll be there,” she answered, then hung up.

Bright and early the next morning, Kennedy tried calling the company that had towed her car. She kept being transferred from one area to another, and then decided it might be in her best interest to just show up in person. The challenge now was to rent a car. She called several automobile rental companies until she found one willing to pick her up at home. When she attempted to reserve the vehicle her credit card was turned down.

“How could that be?” she asked the rental agent.

“I don’t know, ma’am, it just says declined and I’ve run it through several times.”

Another call to the credit card’s customer service department revealed her bill hadn’t been paid in months. The account was canceled. Yet another strike against Marna.

Desperate, Kennedy used her bank debit card to reserve the vehicle. She was on her way and had a small measure of peace.

Her first stop was at Puget Sound Mutual, the bank that financed her car and where she did her personal banking. After she’d explained what had happened over and over, a sympathetic bank clerk took her to see one of the vice presidents. By then Kennedy was through talking and very close to crying.

She really was going to knock Marna out when she got her hands on her. She would have been better off trusting her tenants with her bank routing number and having them make their own deposits. She wouldn’t have this headache now if she’d paid her bills electronically. But no, she’s thought it best that someone closer to home pick up her rent checks and pay her bills. What a mistake that had been.

The bank’s records showed they’d made numerous attempts to contact Kennedy and work out arrangements. Hearing nothing back, they’d repossessed the car.

Kennedy explained her situation and the officer expressed sympathy and made several phone calls, but to no avail. The vehicle was most likely being auctioned as they spoke.

By then the headache had become a migraine. How on earth would she get from Bellevue to downtown Seattle in twenty minutes? If there was traffic on the bridge she was toast.

Driving like a speed demon, Kennedy managed to make it into the parking lot of TSW Studios with five minutes to spare. She used that time to comb her hair, shove her headband back in place and apply fresh lip gloss. She’d never been much for makeup and no one would ever describe her as trendy. Kennedy’s clothing was always more functional than stylish.

Once inside, she handed her ID to the guard at the desk in the lobby and waited for Diane to come and get her. Five minutes into her wait a thirty-something, athletically built man came sauntering in.

He was the kind of African-American male who, although casually dressed, turned heads. His hunter-green flannel shirt stretched across his broad chest, and was tucked into baggy jeans that slouched at the knees. His scuffed boots looked as though they’d seen better days. Although his overall appearance shouted mountain man, there was a sensuality and confidence to him that was very appealing.

He approached the guard’s circular desk and flicked a finger at him. “Morning, Andrew. How’s it going?”

The guard, who’d been hunched over his station with an eye on the newspaper, folded it quickly and gave him his full attention. “Good morning, Mr. Washington. It’s been a long time! How was safari?”

This couldn’t be Tanner Washington. Kennedy was expecting someone much older.

“Please call me Salim, Andrew. Mr. Washington is my father,” the man who looked as if he could straddle Mount Rainier in one leap corrected. “Zimbabwe was incredible. Just a beautiful country, but no safari for me. Just my usual humanitarian work for two months.”

“What I wouldn’t give to visit Africa,” the guard said, longingly.

“The Peace Corps might be the way to go. You’d be doing something worthy while at the same time experiencing a new country. I signed up for a two-year stint after graduating college. Since then it’s been very difficult for me to stay in one place for any length of time. Is Mr. Washington around?”

“I didn’t see him leave.”

Salim’s complexion was the color of raw brown sugar and his eyes were equally as light. He did a quick scan of the lobby as if expecting his father to jump out from behind one of the potted ficus plants. His glance rested briefly on Kennedy and she was treated to a warm smile that began at the corner of his tawny eyes and settled in his square jaw. She liked his full lips and the way his mouth turned up at the corners. He looked as though he laughed a lot.

“Who do we have here?” he said loud enough for Kennedy to hear him, turning back to the guard.

She didn’t hear the guard’s response. Probably just as well, she didn’t need some wealthy playboy flirting with her right before she had a meeting with his father. Her priority was getting back her car and she would focus on that once this meeting was over.

The petite, smartly dressed woman who came bustling out of the elevator must be the studio head’s assistant. When she approached the guard, Mountain Man swept her off her feet.

“Di, you look younger than ever,” he gushed.

“Put me down!” she said, chuckling. “I don’t have time for this nonsense. Though I am glad you’re back. We’ll talk later. I’m here to collect your father’s visitor,” the assistant said.

Salim Washington set Diane back on her feet.

The guard pointed to Kennedy and the petite woman came mincing over.

“Ms. Fitzgerald,” she said. “I’m Diane, Mr. Washington’s assistant. Have you been waiting long?”

“No, your timing is perfect.”

Kennedy looked over at Salim and he was no longer the smiling, affable guy who’d come sauntering through the lobby. He threw her a thunderous look of surprise and what looked like—no, it couldn’t be—disgust.

What was that all about? No time to psychoanalyze now, the television mogul was waiting.

Chapter 2

Salim would rather be anywhere but here. TSW Studios was a place he’d avoided like the plague. It was much too artificial an environment for him. But the old man’s assistant had called acting as if it was a life-and-death situation and because it was Diane, and he liked Diane, he’d dropped everything to come.

He was not here for the man who called himself his father, that was for sure. He wasn’t interested in anything that philanderer had to say.

His father, Tanner Washington’s autocratic approach to everyone in his life had turned Salim off. They were worlds apart in the way they conducted business and dealt with people.

Salim’s mother, Lucinda, had also called Salim telling him to go see his father. She was the peacemaker in the family and she’d finally persuaded him to hear the old man out. His self-suffering mother was the most wonderful woman in the world and he would do almost anything she asked, even meet with a man he disliked intensely.

He’d made one hour for Tanner Washington. So far that whole hour had been taken up by the young African-American woman with the Asian cast to her features. She was the woman who’d been seated in the lobby, the one he’d thought was very attractive.

More than attractive actually. More like beautiful, in a wholesome but classy sort of way. In an era where tats, weaves, piercings, bling and barely there clothing were in vogue, this woman, who wore minimal makeup and a conservative hairstyle, stood out. Salim had been especially intrigued by the outfit: a classic navy suit worn with sensible pumps and pearls. She certainly didn’t seem the type to work in a television studio, more likely a bank.

As the minutes ticked by, he was getting more and more irritated. She’d been behind closed doors with his father for far too long. He had places to go and people to see. What exactly are they doing in there anyway?

“Di, how much longer will he be?” Salim quizzed the old man’s assistant. It took a lot to address the old goat by “father.” An adulterer did not deserve that kind of respect.

“I scheduled his interview for an hour,” Diane answered in her usual, unperturbed manner. “If I’d known you were planning to pop in, I would have booked you time.” She lowered her glasses, looking at him.

Salim winked at Diane. “If you can fit me in I’ll take you to lunch, you gorgeous thing.”

“I can buy my own lunch, thanks. Save your flirting for that string of wide-eyed young things your own age that you impress with stories of your travels.”

He wished there was a string of young things. Lately he’d had no time for romantic entanglements, not even flings.

“You’re a hard woman, Di,” Salim said, clutching his heart. “One day you just might succumb to my charm. You know you’re a cougar in a fab suit.”

Diane settled her glasses back on her nose and gave him the full effect of her cold, unsettling stare. “I don’t think so. I like my men buttoned down and settled. I’m too old to babysit.”

Salim chuckled. He absolutely loved the woman and her droll sense of humor.

She was one of those ageless matrons who must have been a knockout in her heyday. Diane was the complete package: efficient, good looking, intellectual and fearless. She took no guff from her tyrannical boss, which was another reason Tanner kept her around. As studio head he was used to intimidating people. Diane simply could not be intimidated.

Salim hovered at Diane’s circular desk, listening shamelessly while she buzzed her boss.

“Your son’s been waiting to see you for almost an hour,” she said in an even voice that never changed, even when Tanner was having a hissy fit, which was often.

When Diane’s eyebrows rose a fraction, Salim guessed the old man’s response wasn’t exactly positive. Not that that came as a big surprise.

“You’ve got about fifteen minutes free after you’re through with Ms. Fitzgerald,” Diane reminded the mogul. “And you did have me call Salim earlier this week. You said you wanted to see him.”

Salim tapped the face of his Timex and whispered to Diane, “Tell your boss I have to be somewhere in forty minutes. Never mind, I’ll tell him myself.”

“Salim!”

He ignored her and strode toward the closed office door.

“You can’t just go bursting in on an interview,” Diane called after him.

“Watch me. My time is just as valuable as his.”

He paused briefly in front of the smoked-glass double doors that had Tanner Washington, President of TSW engraved on them. The T stood for Tanner and the S for Salim. It had never occurred to the pompous old ass to make it TSCW and include his daughter Christiane’s initials.

Tanner’s dream had been that one day his son would take over from him. Except Salim couldn’t care less about the superficial world of media entertainment and placating high-maintenance stars and volatile executives. That had always been a bone of contention between them.

Christiane was the one better suited to running a studio. She loved the glamorous life and had married Leonard Green, one of TSW’s executives. She enjoyed being the trophy wife and although she was at home raising two children, much of her time was spent hosting parties her husband threw.

Salim had always thought it a total waste that a studio like TSW would focus on lighthearted sitcoms and trashy talk shows. They should be making documentaries educating the public on the HIV situation in African countries, or life in war-torn Iraq.

He rapped on the door while Diane hissed behind him, “Salim, come on now. Your dad’s in the middle of an interview.”

Without waiting for an invitation, Salim waltzed in. He found the mogul on his knees in front of the seated woman he was supposedly interviewing. Tanner looked up, his pinched expression reflecting his surprise.

Salim cleared his throat. It was obvious what the dirty old goat had been up to or was about to do. And to think he’d admired the woman and thought she was classy.

Tanner slowly got to his feet, dusting the lint off his slacks.

“I gave Diane instructions I was not be disturbed,” he said all bluster.

“Yes, I know.”

The woman was watching them intently. She didn’t seem overly concerned.

“Your pearl earring has to be here somewhere, Kennedy,” Tanner said, brusquely. “I’ll have the cleaners look for it before they vacuum. If it can’t be found I’ll replace it.”

As though Salim was supposed to believe that. So much for initial impressions; wholesome she was not. She was just another ho, except this one was more cleaned up.

The studio head now stood with his arms crossed. He was a tall, distinguished-looking man with silvering hair, wide shoulders, a bit of a gut and an intimidating stance. Yet women were drawn to him like a magnet. Salim never could understand why. It certainly couldn’t be his overbearing personality, so he had to attribute it to his power and wealth. And Tanner was a powerful man with influential contacts.

“When a door’s closed it usually means a person is busy,” his father barked.

“I knocked. You wanted to see me and here I am.” Salim glanced at his watch. “I have to be some place in exactly thirty-five minutes.”

His father’s woman stood, smoothing the skirt that had slid up to her thighs. She was as cool and brassy as they came.

“Thank you for your time, Mr. Washington,” she said. “You’ve certainly given me a lot to think about. May I get back to you tomorrow with an answer?”

She sounded formal, almost prim; a departure from the usual classless type Tanner went for. It was an act, had to be.

“Of course you may, and if I can do anything more to help make up your mind, don’t hesitate to call.” Tanner handed her a business card. “I’ll see you out.”

With a smile and a nod she made her way by Salim. Tanner stopped for a moment to make introductions.

“Kennedy Fitzgerald is a leadership consultant. I’m hopeful that she will soon join our team of executives. Kennedy, this is my son, Salim.”

Kennedy’s handshake was brief but firm. Salim swallowed the bile at the back of his throat. The audacity of the old man, hiring a woman he was involved with, as if he hadn’t embarrassed his wife, Lucinda, enough.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you. Were you in the lobby earlier?” Kennedy Fitzgerald asked.

“I was.”

Salim took his time looking her over, letting his eyes slowly slide up and down her long legs. She wore sensible pumps and her navy suit reminded him of a banker. The plain white blouse under it covered her full breasts. Kennedy’s hair was held back from her face with a tortoiseshell headband and was evenly trimmed.

Now he knew that conservative outfit was a cover. The sparkle in those slightly slanted eyes indicated she was not as prim as she looked. He’d seen with his own eyes his father on his knees between those long legs of hers.

“Is something wrong?” the Fitzgerald woman asked as he continued to stare.

“Actually, I was thinking that you might not be a very good fit for a television studio. Creative artsy types tend to get wild and you are as conservative as they come.”

“Am I, now?”

She was as cool as an icicle. He doubted anything rattled her.

Tanner’s brows furrowed and his eyes flashed disapprovingly. Salim continued to smile. Tanner nodded curtly in his direction. He held his latest by the elbow and eased her toward the door.

“We’ll talk tomorrow. If I can do anything to sweeten the pot just let me know,” he said, closing the door behind her.

Arms folded across his chest and gut, camouflaged in an expensive suit, Tanner faced Salim. “How dare you!”

“How dare I what?”

“You come barging in here when you obviously knew I was in a meeting.”

“You said you wanted to see me. You had Diane call.”

Salim looked directly into the eyes of the man he’d been told he was the spitting image of. At thirty-three he refused to be intimidated. They looked nothing alike. He favored his mother, not this arrogant man with the overinflated ego.

“And you informed Diane you were too busy and couldn’t make the time to meet with me. You said you were jet-lagged.”

“I was. I still am.”

“But you made the time to see your mother.”

“I always have time for my mother.”

Unlike you. The unspoken words hung between them.

“Have a seat,” Tanner said, waving Salim toward a huge black leather couch.

The casting couch.

He’d be damned if he sat down on that thing. Who knew what disgusting things lived in that sofa?

“I prefer to stand,” Salim answered, arms also folded, mimicking the man who had given him life. “What’s so urgent that it required me being here? We haven’t spoken in months.”

“That was your decision,” Tanner reminded him quietly.

Yes, indeed it had been his decision. He was sick and tired of watching this man hurt his mother. Their lifestyles were so very different anyway. Tanner loved living large and enjoyed the glitz and glamour that came with the television business. Salim despised it. He much preferred to do something useful like help change lives. His money was used to make a difference in other people’s circumstances. That’s why his last jaunt to Africa had been so satisfying. He’d enjoyed seeing what a little money could do to enhance lives. This upcoming trip would be even more rewarding. The clinic in Haiti badly needed staffing and money for medical supplies. He’d managed to get some substantial contributions.

A few years ago Salim and a partner had started a foundation that helped promote safe sex globally. Their ultimate goal was to educate and stem the transmittal of the HIV virus, particularly in some African and Caribbean countries.

The good thing about having a trust fund was that it gave him the freedom to travel and donate funds as he saw fit. A nine-to-five job would not allow him to pick up and leave whenever he wanted to. Of course he preferred not to remember that TSW Studios made his way of life possible.

“Perhaps you had better take a seat,” Tanner repeated, his expression serious. “What I am going to say will take some time, and then we’ll need to meet with the lawyers. There’s some paperwork to go over.”

Since it sounded serious Salim sat. He would strangle the old bastard with his bare hands if he told him he was going to divorce his mother and replace her with a younger model.

Kennedy Fitzgerald to be exact.

Kennedy had a lot to think about. Tanner Washington’s job offer had come out of the blue, and at the perfect time. But it sounded as though she would be a glorified babysitter. Tanner wanted to hire her to groom his son, who appeared to be a handful. Kennedy was to get him ready to take over Tanner’s position as studio head.

The television mogul had admitted to already having three heart attacks. He was now being scheduled for bypass surgery. His doctor had advised him to get his affairs in order, and this was where Kennedy came in. Tanner Washington was being forced to think of his mortality.

Kennedy still hadn’t heard word one from Marna. Now Kennedy needed every penny she could get. First there was the matter of transportation to get her around. Her car could very easily be on its way to an auction block, which meant buying another. She’d already used a sizeable chunk of the money earned in Japan to get her bills current, and she dreaded thinking of how that delinquency would affect her credit.

She could kill the woman. Maybe Lincoln, her brother—named after Abraham Lincoln—knew of Marna’s whereabouts. He still lived in eastern Washington where they’d grown up. Kennedy put in her earpiece and punched in the programmed number on her cell phone.

Lincoln’s deep voice brought a smile to her face.

“Hey, baby girl. I bet you’re glad to be home?”

“It was nice of you to call and check on me,” Kennedy said sarcastically.

Linc’s deep laughter rang out. “Don’t get attitude with me. I’m a family man and plenty busy with the new baby. What’s up?”

“Have you heard from Marna?”

“Was I supposed to? The last I knew she’d taken off to Alaska after some guy.”

“What! She was supposed to be house-sitting for me.”

“Yeah, I’d heard something about that. She’s got this friend Betsy you might want to call.”

After an extended hold Linc returned with Betsy’s number. Hanging up, Kennedy called the number and became even more frustrated when she was kicked into voice mail. Having no choice, she left a message. Next on the agenda was the towing company.

“A silver Honda?” the stressed employee repeated while several phones rang in the background.

“Yes, yes,” Kennedy said impatiently, giving her license plate number and mentally ticking off a dozen things she needed to do.

“Sorry, ma’am, but that vehicle is no longer here. When cars are repossessed they get wholesaled out to dealers. Yours could be on any number of trucks heading anywhere.”

Seconds from losing it, Kennedy hung up the phone. She couldn’t believe the mess her life had become.

Chapter 3

“I’ve decided to accept the position but on one condition,” Kennedy said to Tanner Washington two days later.

“I’m delighted. What’s the condition?”

“Your generous offer has to come with a company vehicle.”

Tanner’s rich laughter rang out. “All of my executives have company vehicles or at the very least they receive a car allowance.”

Yes! Kennedy covered the phone’s mouthpiece before she could say the word out loud. She exhaled the breath she didn’t know she was holding. Things were definitely looking up.

After doing a little more digging, she’d learned her vehicle had been wholesaled out. Gone was the forty-eight hundred dollars she’d shelled out over the past year in car payments. The rental she was now driving was costing her a fortune, and to add insult to injury she hadn’t been able to use a credit card, and that meant more money coming out of her bank account.

“There are several makes and models of cars you can choose from, but most of our executives drive a Lexus,” Tanner added. “Come by and get the contract from my assistant, Diane. You’ll need to sign it before you pick out a car.”

“What’s my start date?” Kennedy asked, already feeling a whole lot better. She took long, steadying breaths and waited for Tanner’s response. She was just about to seal the most lucrative deal of her life that could very well help get her back on solid ground.

“I’d like you to start yesterday,” Tanner Washington said. “My son, Salim, is going to be a challenge. He’s headstrong and not really cooperative when told what to do. I had to enlist the help of his mother to help him see things my way.”

“You mentioned you were having surgery. When is it planned for?”

“When you come in we’ll talk about it. I’ve got a meeting in exactly two minutes. Let me transfer you to Diane.”

He didn’t wait for her to agree but simply handed her off to his assistant.

“This is Diane,” a no-nonsense voice said into Kennedy’s ear.

Kennedy tamped down on her excitement. She had a job and that meant income. Her credit had taken an enormous hit thanks to Marna’s irresponsibility and in a short time her previously orderly world had turned into a nightmare. Bill collectors had been calling, and she’d had to go to the various utility companies to pay her water, gas and light bills before they were shut off.

Free yoga classes at her local community center were keeping her calm and she’d resumed her fast walking. The phone rang and Kennedy inhaled, anticipating another demanding creditor. It was not in her nature to dodge or use the answering machine to screen calls, but she was strongly considering that option.

“Hello?” she said.

Her mother’s breathless voice came at her. “Honey, I was so worried about you. Why haven’t you been answering your cell phone?”

Her mother Taiko Myers, had been on her honeymoon in Hawaii when Kennedy returned to the States. This latest marriage would be her fourth. Kennedy hoped she’d made a better choice this time around.

“I never got your message. I would have called you back. How was your honeymoon, Mom?” Kennedy prepared herself for the lengthy discussion that would surely follow.

Ten minutes later she managed to get in the first word. Kennedy used that opportunity to take the conversation in an entirely different direction.

“Have you heard from Marna, Mom?”

“Not recently. She’s supposedly in Alaska with some guy she met in Seattle.”

“She was supposed to be house-sitting for me and paying my bills with the rent she collected.”

“Didn’t she turn that job over to her friend Summer?”

Kennedy’s right eye began to twitch. “Summer? I’ve never heard of a friend Summer.”

“Taiko!” a gruff male voice called in the background.

“I’ll be right there.”

“Taiko. I need you. Where’s my clean socks?”

Kennedy hadn’t met stepfather number three, but from the sound of things, her mother had picked another winner. She tended to go for controlling, abusive types. Growing up, Kennedy had learned to insulate herself from the succession of men in and out of her mother’s life. More than one had been far too interested in her.

The uncertainty of coming home and finding her mother in tears had made her wary and cynical of men in general. If this was what relationships were about, she wanted no part of them.

“Who’s Summer?” Kennedy asked, focusing her mother back to the topic.

“Summer is Marna’s best friend,” Taiko explained. “I may have her number somewhere. If I find it, I’ll call you back.”

“Get your ass off the phone,” her mother’s latest screamed. “I need to get dressed.”

Stepfather number three was shaping up to be just like the others.

“I’ve got to help Jack find something,” her mother explained hurriedly.

“Call me back with Summer’s number, Ma,” Kennedy reminded her before hanging up.

“Okay, baby. I will.”

Salim disconnected the call and clipped the phone back on his waistband. He cradled his head and groaned loudly. The airline had charged him a considerable penalty for canceling his ticket to Haiti. That one-hundred-dollar cancellation fee could have fed numerous orphans or treated HIV-positive babies. Wasting that money made him angry and thinking about what he would be responsible for in the next several months made him even angrier.

He was not at all interested in the television business, nor was he cut out to be an executive. But now he was expected to step into his father’s shoes and make decisions that meant nothing to him. It seemed ironic that after doing everything he could to avoid the corporate trap, fate had dealt him this blow.

Much as he despised his father, it was his father’s money that had allowed him to travel to third world, HIV-ridden countries. And no matter how much Salim disliked his dad, Tanner was sick and someone had to at least try and keep the company running. It was the whole family’s livelihood. But that didn’t mean he had to be happy about it.

The cell phone clipped to his waistband played a rhythmic jingle.

“It’s Diane,” his father’s assistant said in her no-nonsense voice. “What’s your schedule like for Thursday this week?”

“I was supposed to be in Haiti. Now it seems I am free.”

“Good. I’m scheduling a meeting for 2:00 p.m. Please be sure to be on time.”

“And the agenda is?” Salim probed.

“That I don’t know, but the newly hired leadership consultant will be there, as well.”

“Leadership consultant? Tell me you’re kidding.”

“Didn’t you meet the young woman?”

“If I did, she wasn’t very memorable.”

“Her name is Kennedy Fitzgerald. She was being interviewed last week when you were here. That was the day you barged in on your father.”

Salim recalled the woman in the blue business suit, the one he’d thought classy and different, until he’d realized she was involved with his father.

“Uh, she’s a leadership consultant?” he scoffed. “I’ve heard it called a lot of things.”

“Actually she has excellent credentials, and as of this week she’s officially on the payroll. I’m going to have to run, I have several phones ringing.”

When Diane hung up, Salim paced for several minutes before making another call. Why would TSW Studios need a leadership consultant? Maybe they planned on shooting a sitcom about a life coach and the woman had agreed to be the consultant. More likely, his father needed a legitimate reason to keep his girlfriend around. What gumption and what a total waste of money. Money he could use to do something good.

He decided to call his sister, Christiane. She was usually good at putting things in perspective.

“Salim, it’s good to hear from you,” Christiane said the moment she heard his voice.

They caught up on the family issues before he broached his real reason for calling.

“Did you know that the old man had three minor heart attacks and is now scheduled for bypass surgery?” he asked.

“No I didn’t!” Christiane cried. “Dad’s never said a word, but that explains his frequent trips to Houston. They have some of the best heart surgeons there. Mom must have known something about this, but she never let on.”

“That’s because the old buzzard told her to keep her mouth shut. You know she’ll do whatever he asks,” Salim muttered bitterly.

“Oh, Salim, there you go again. Can’t you make peace with Dad and move on? He could probably use your help and support right now.”

Salim snorted. “In that case he shouldn’t have hired his girlfriend to work at the studio.”

“What!”

“You heard me. I know squat about the television business and now I’m being railroaded into coming on board.” A horrifying thought gripped him, one he was reluctant to put into words.

“You have no proof,” Christiane admonished. “Dad’s pushing sixty. He’s getting up there in years and we’re the only two children he has. Why is it you always want to believe the worst of him?”

“I can’t summon up compassion for a liar and a cheat. Don’t you recall what he put our mother through growing up?”

“You and your assumptions.”

“Not assumptions. There’s been proof.” Salim began to recite events and situations, all captured either on film or in the newspaper.

But there was no swaying Christiane to his way of thinking. She was Daddy’s girl, always was and always would be.

Perhaps it was high time he paid a visit home.

Talking to his mother on the phone was one thing, but seeing her face-to-face was another. He’d planned on taking her out to lunch and giving her the gift he’d brought back from Africa anyway. There was no danger of running into the old man midafternoon, so why not just go on over?

Rather than take his pickup truck, he opted for his Vespa scooter. There was something about riding that sleek machine with the wind blowing in his face and the motor throbbing between his legs that made him feel invincible. He’d always marched to the beat of his own drummer anyway, and he wasn’t about to change.

Zooming in and out of traffic, Salim whipped across the bridge and onto Mercer Island where the family had its home. He navigated several winding roads before heading up a tree-lined driveway. He left the Vespa parked in front of the rambling brick mansion that he’d called home growing up.

Salim used the house key he kept on his key ring, but seldom used.

“Salim. Did somebody die?” Tilly the housekeeper who’d been a second mother to him asked as he sailed through the front door. She wiped her hands on the apron wrapped around her ample waist.

“No, no one died. I’m here to see my mother and you.” He gave her the full force of his smile.

“Consider yourself lucky that I like you,” she said, offering up a plump cheek for his kiss. Matilda, Tilly for short, was one of those rotund, ageless women whose fat prevented her from wrinkling.

She frowned at him. “You need to leave those muddy boots on the doormat. The floors were just done and I’ll be damned if I’m going to have you mess them up. How was Africa or wherever you’re coming from this time?”

“Lots of work, Tilly. I’m exhausted.” Salim slipped off his boots and left them where she’d instructed.

“Your mother’s in the bedroom. She has one of her headaches, probably brought on by you,” Tilly snorted. “Is that gift for her?”

“Yes, it is.”

Salim left her and headed down a long hallway toward his mother’s bedroom. Although she didn’t think he knew it, it had been years since she and Tanner had shared a room. The old man’s room was on the opposite end of the hall close to the staircase so that he could come and go as he pleased.

What a way to live.

Salim knocked lightly. He heard a stirring from inside and then his mother’s voice came at him.

“Tilly, didn’t I say I didn’t want to be disturbed?”

“It’s me, Mother.”

“Salim! You’re back.” There was genuine joy in her tone. “What brings you here? I would’ve thought you’d be home sleeping and jet-lagged.”

The door opened slowly. Lucinda, dressed in an elegant silk robe, embraced him. It reminded him of when he was a little boy and got hurt. It was always his mother’s arms he sought.

They’d always had a special bond. Lucinda understood his need to carve out a life for himself. Her easygoing nature and acceptance of others made her a pushover for her dominant husband. It made Salim want to protect her. And protect her he did.

“I came to see my favorite woman,” Salim answered when he was able to separate himself from her lily scent. The smell of lilies was one of his first memories. To this day just a whiff took him back in time to a place when life was so much simpler.

Lucinda whacked his arm. “I bet that’s what you say to all your girls. If you’ll give me a few minutes to change, I’ll have Tilly fix us something to eat.”

Salim handed her the gift he’d brought all the way back from Zimbabwe. In exchange he received another tight hug.

“Oh, Salim, you shouldn’t have, but I’m glad you did. This jewelry box is beautiful. Give me five minutes to get dressed and then meet me in the sunroom.”

True to her word, Lucinda arrived in the sunroom at the appointed time. Salim was already comfortably seated in a wingback chair, sipping bottled water and watching a muted television with one eye. When he stood, she wrapped him in another tight embrace.

“What’s really brought you here?” she asked, olding Salim away from her and examining him with a critical eye.

“I came to talk to you,” he answered.

“About?”

“What’s going on with your husband’s health?”

“Did your father say something to you?” his mother hedged.

“The old man summoned me to the studio, Mom. He says he has health issues. It’s the first time I’ve heard of heart problems. If I’m being manipulated I’d like to know. I canceled a ticket to Haiti and put my life on hold. Tell me what’s going on.”

“He didn’t want you or Christiane to worry,” Lucinda said in a soft voice.

“Really? All his life it’s always been about him.”

Lucinda took the chair across from Salim and crossed a shapely leg. Salim sat back down and waited for his mother to begin.

“Your father is not the ogre you make him out to be. If he’s reaching out to you, it’s because he needs you to step up and take over. The diagnosis from his doctor is not good.”

Salim cracked his knuckles so hard Lucinda flinched.

He didn’t know what to say. “Why didn’t you call me and warn me this was coming, Ma? I’m not management material. I don’t even own a suit.”

She held up a hand, silencing him. “A suit does not make the man. You’ll have plenty of help running TSW. Your dad pays his executive team well for their expertise. What we need is a strong presence at the studio while I nurse him back to health.”

The comment propelled Salim out of his seat. He snorted and began circling the room. “The whole corporate thing makes me want to gag, Ma. I’m not much for the politics or phony people.”

“Then let’s not talk about the situation,” Lucinda said, accepting the cup of tea Tilly handed her. “Tell me about Africa. The jewelry box you brought me is quite lovely and very well crafted. I’ll use it to keep my everyday rings.”

For the next hour while they visited, Lucinda caught him up on what was happening in her life and he shared his. She shared how worried she was about Tanner’s upcoming surgery.

Despite Salim’s feelings about his father, he threaded his fingers through his mother’s and squeezed her hand hard. Lucinda sniffled loudly and took a sip from her cup. Speaking more to herself than to him, she said, “There’s nothing more relaxing than a well-brewed cup of tea.”

By subtly shifting the conversation, they ended the visit on an upbeat note.

In an overt act of rebelliousness, Salim arrived at TSW studios on Thursday in jeans and a long-sleeved shirt that had seen better days. His father was nowhere to be found when he arrived. Diane made the usual excuses.

“Your dad’s in a meeting,” she said, pointing him to a seat and picking up yet another phone. Salim soon got tired of hanging out in the waiting area. He was about to take a walk when along came Kennedy Fitzgerald. Today she was dressed in another of those sharp conservative suits.

Today’s getup was a pin-striped suit, the skirt skimming the knees of her beautifully shaped legs. Pearls circled her neck and she sported matching earrings. No one dressed like this in Seattle, not even the lawyers. But Kennedy Fitzgerald made her conservative suit look becoming, even sexy.

The three-inch heels of her pumps beat out a rat-atat as she approached Diane’s desk.

“I’m a few minutes early,” she said in a very refined voice.

“Unfortunately, Mr. Washington is running a few minutes late. Why don’t you introduce yourself to Salim, his son? He’s seated over there.” Di pointed a finger to the corner where he was seated. “You two are in the same meeting and this may be a good opportunity to get acquainted.”

He could kill Diane. She’d put him in a spot. Now he couldn’t very well walk away without being rude. He forced himself to smile, wave and pat the spot next to him. “Please join me. There’s plenty of space.”

Kennedy looked at him as if she smelled something slightly unpleasant. She started toward him gingerly.

The words popped out of his mouth before he could stop them.

“You look lovely,” he said.

He was surprised when Kennedy Fitzgerald actually had the grace to blush.

Chapter 4

Kennedy picked up on the tension between father and son. Salim remained slouched in a chair, not saying a word, while his father outlined his plan. Thunderous was the only way to describe his expression. He made no secret he was not at all happy about what his father was planning.

“When are you expecting to step down from your position?” Kennedy asked the studio head.

“My surgery is scheduled for two weeks from today. I’ll be here to at least transition Salim into his role.”

“And what are you expecting me to accomplish during those two weeks?” Kennedy asked, jotting notes as the senior Washington spoke.

“First things first. Salim will have to learn to dress the part of a successful executive.”

“Are you expecting her to take me shopping?” Salim sneered, at last breaking his silence.

“No, there’s no time. We’ll have a tailor and a personal shopper come onto the premises. Kennedy can help you pick out your suits, shirts and ties.”

Salim glared at Kennedy. “The hell she will!”

When she’d accepted the job of grooming Salim Washington into the man his father thought he could be, she knew it would be no easy task. From the very beginning she’d seen rebel written all over him, but at the same time there was a restless, adventuresome spirit that she’d found very attractive.

“You’re stepping into the role of president of a prestigious television studio,” his father reminded him quietly. “You need to look the part.”

“That may be so but I don’t require a woman to dress me, nor do I need another mother.”

“Kennedy is a leadership consultant.”

“And a total waste of company money.”

Salim popped out of his seat and bounded toward the window. He turned his back on both of them and stared out onto the parking lot.

The conversation continued as if he didn’t exist. Ignoring his son, Tanner Washington handed Kennedy a sheet of paper.

“I’ve highlighted and prioritized everything I expect you to accomplish.”

Kennedy glanced at the paper because that was what was expected of her.

“I’m expected to teach your son table manners?” she asked in a low voice.

“I’m expecting that you’ll teach him how to be a gracious host. Now, if that includes knowing which fork to use, and when to use it, then so be it. This position requires he entertain influential people.”

“Don’t talk about me as if I don’t exist,” Salim groused. “How long will I have to put up with Ms. Fitzgerald shadowing me?”

Tanner took his son’s ill humor in stride. “For as long as it takes. The sooner you get your hands around this business and work on your people skills, the sooner you’ll be on your own. I don’t anticipate being out very long. People with heart transplants are on their feet in days, and this is bypass surgery.”

Kennedy privately thought the older Washington man was being overly optimistic.

Salim’s glance took in his father’s spacious surroundings. The suite was larger than most people’s apartments and had several rooms.

“Will Ms. Fitzgerald have her own space or are you expecting me to share this office with her?” he barked.

“I haven’t decided yet.”

“I won’t share an office. I refuse to be babysat.”

“We’ll see,” his father responded in the same level tone he’d had from the beginning of their meeting.

Salim returned to stand in front of his father’s desk. He held out his hand for a copy of the paper that Kennedy was reading.

“If you’re going to set expectations, then you might as well share them with me,” he snapped.

“I’ll have Diane print you up another copy.”

In an attempt to defuse what she saw as a conflict in the making, Kennedy handed her paper to Salim.

He held it gingerly between his fingers and scanned it quickly. “You gotta be kidding! You’re expecting me to be joined to this woman’s hip. She’s to teach me how to small-talk and stay away from controversial topics. The only thing she’s not to do is diaper me. Forget about it!”

A sarcastic laugh followed. Salim slapped down the list, made an abrupt turn and headed for the door.

“A substantial donation to AIDS research is at risk here,” his father shouted after him. “I’ll stop contributing to your trust fund if that’s what it takes. Just think about all those poor people in Haiti that you currently support.”

“You really are unconscionable,” Salim gritted out, sending his father a fiery look before he disappeared.

“It’s a big change for your son,” Kennedy said after Salim had left. She’d always played the role of peacemaker on the job. “He just might need a little time to digest everything you’ve said. You’ve hit him with quite a bit and he’s probably having difficulty coping with your health issues. Children often think of parents as invincible.”

Privately she thought it was an awful thing to do, blackmailing your own child. At the same time she was curious about the Haiti reference. Prickly as Salim was, she had the feeling there was a caring man somewhere deep inside. She had to give him credit for standing up to an intimidating man and being true to himself.

“My son’s always been a challenging personality,” Tanner said, rising and coming to sit across from her. “He could give two hoots about money. He uses it only to benefit someone else. Shall we get the other items on our agenda nailed down? Diane will arrange for you to tour the studio afterward.”

For the next half hour the studio head talked about his expectations, and what he hoped Kennedy would accomplish with his son.

“I’m tossing in a bonus,” Tanner added as they wound down their business. “You whip Salim into shape and you can have your own television program. Take your life coaching to the masses.”

Kennedy’s excitement began to build. What he was proposing was better than immediate cash in her pocket. She could be a household name like her idol, Oprah.

“That’s an interesting proposal but I’m not sure anyone would be interested in me,” she said.

“Don’t sell yourself short. With a bit of marketing and the right exposure you could be one of TSW’s rising stars.”

Kennedy tamped down on her excitement. She’d accepted the position because of money and the company car that came with it; a television show was a very nice offer but she couldn’t afford to get carried away.

Even so, her heart was palpitating so fast she thought she might have an attack. A television show meant exposure and more clients than she needed. All that translated into cold, hard cash. Plus, she really enjoyed what she did so this could take her career to a whole new level.

“Here’s what I’m thinking,” Tanner Washington said. “We make it a reality show where select members of the audience share issues they are having. They’re paired off and sent to a place similar to the Dr. Phil house, just like you see on his show. Three months later we bring them back. Now the studio audience gets to vote as to who’s made the most progress. The program would be cutting edge. Ratings are bound to soar. And I can see you’d be very telegenic.”

“It would certainly be different from the usual lineup,” Kennedy said diplomatically. “Can you give me some time to mull this over?” she asked, not wanting to appear too anxious. “I’m not sure I’m cut out for show business.”

In the back of her mind she thought this was a nobrainer, but it was smart not to sound too eager.

Tanner rebutted with “What’s there to think about? Most people would be champing at the bit given this opportunity.”

“I’m not most people.”

Tanner chuckled as if he thought her answer was the funniest thing he’d heard. “That’s exactly why I hired you. You’ve got credentials most people only dream of. What’s impressed me is that a young black woman had the foresight to learn Japanese and French along with her native English.”

“Thank you. My grandmother is Japanese and I learned to speak the language at an early age. French I studied in school and spent a year abroad perfecting.” Kennedy glanced at her watch. “If we’re done I’m going to have to run. I have a dinner appointment.”

“No time for a tour, then?” Tanner asked, walking her to the door and handing her over to Diane.

“I can do a quick one.”

“Diane will get you all set up.”

“Happy to,” Tanner’s assistant said, taking over.

Kennedy scanned the general area realizing for the first time that Salim was sprawled in one of the chairs. He was waiting, she presumed, to speak to his father. She would not be a witness to that confrontation.

“Did I hear something about Ms. Fitzgerald needing a tour?” he asked, deigning to get up.

“Yes, your dad asked me to find someone to show her around.”

“You just did. I’ll take over from here, Diane,” Salim said, smiling at his father’s assistant.

Kennedy’s gut told her she was in for a treat. It was the first time she’d seen what looked like a genuine smile light up Salim’s rugged features, and again she was struck by what a difference that made. He was the kind of man who looked as if he stepped off a Field and Stream cover.

She glanced pointedly at the clock on the far wall. “I’m sorry but we’ll need to make this quick. I have to be some place in about forty-five minutes.”

“Ten minutes will take care of things. I’ll give you a quick walk-through and point out the highlights.”

It surprised Kennedy that he was even offering. She really couldn’t quite believe it. He’d made his dislike of her so apparent. There had to be something in it for him.

Salim held on to Kennedy’s upper arm, guiding her down another long carpeted hallway. She felt an inner tremor and dismissed it as a delayed reaction to her interview. As they walked, he pointed out the celebrities whose pictures adorned the walls.

“Hey, Salim,” an attractive man who looked vaguely familiar said as he swung by them.

“David McFarland,” Salim supplied. “And in case you haven’t kept up, he’s a popular soap actor.”

Kennedy wasn’t a big fan of soaps, but she did recall seeing the man on a couple of talk shows and she remembered hearing something about David being the current flavor of the month.

They toured a construction area where sets were being built and Salim pointed out the warehouses where props were stored. Kennedy got to see the set where a popular talk show was filmed. On another set, a special effects machine created a winter storm. When they came to white double doors, Salim slowed down.

“This is our commissary. We can get something to drink if you’d like,” he said.

And even though Kennedy had promised her other brother, Roosevelt, that she’d meet him at his place in Edmonds for dinner, she was curious about this man with his mercurial changes of mood.

“I can if we make it quick.”

Salim left her seated in a comfortable booth and went off to get their drinks. He had a loose-limbed walk to him and the view from the rear set off a number of erotic fantasies.

While she waited for him to get back, Kennedy looked at the activity around her. The couple in a nearby booth were fighting, and from the looks of things the woman was winning hands down. The table across from Kennedy held several burly types who looked as though they worked construction. Their casual, dusty clothing was a sure giveaway, and she guessed they were grips, the people who moved scenery.

“This is a busy place,” Kennedy’s escort said, sliding into the seat across from her and shoving a foam cup her way.

“I can tell. Is there something you wanted to say to me?”

“Yes, as a matter of fact there is. I’ve never wanted anything to do with this studio. The money from my trust fund is at stake, and my mother’s pleadings and her livelihood are the only reason I’m here.”

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