When business becomes pleasure

Winning is a way of life for Dante Morretti, and he’s got the real estate empire to prove it. With custody of his four-year-old son, Matteo, at stake, Dante intends to win that, too. Marrying his best friend, Jordana Sharpe, is a vital step in his plan. But when the alluring actress takes Matteo and Dante sightseeing around Los Angeles, he’s waking up to a world beyond boardrooms and billion-dollar deals.

Jordana is as committed to her acting as Dante is to his business. She doesn’t envision feeling that passion for anything else, until her no-strings arrangement with the gorgeous Italian magnate takes a detour...right into Dante’s bed. Suddenly everything is at stake—her career, his custody fight and a fake marriage that could very well lead to the real family they both secretly crave...

“I’m going to kiss you now,” he whispered, seizing her in his arms. “Just act natural.”

No! Jordana screamed, but the word got trapped inside her throat.

In a blink, she was in his arms, flat against his chest, experiencing the pleasure of his kiss for the first time. He didn’t disappoint. He kissed her deeply, thoroughly, and with remarkable tenderness. Jordana didn’t know what to do, but in typical Morretti fashion Dante took the reins.

Forgetting they had an audience, Jordana gave herself permission to live in the moment, to enjoy being in his arms, and his sensuous kiss.

Dante moved his lips against hers, took his time pleasing her with his tongue and mouth.

Goose bumps flooded her arms and zipped along her spine. His caress made her feel alive, oh-so-good, caused her body to throb with desire. He cupped her face in his hands, urged her to come closer. At his touch, her heart jumped for joy. He tasted sweet, like her favorite chocolate dessert, and she was hungry for more. I can’t believe it. This is really happening. Dante’s kissing me and it’s perfect, wonderful, the best kiss I’ve ever had.

Dear Reader,

The idea for Seduced by the Mogul came to me while reading a titillating article about relationships in my favorite magazine. I’ve never written a friends-turned-lovers story but once I “met” Dante and Jordana, I knew they were a perfect match. I didn’t realize Seduced by the Mogul would be filled with a dramatic, over-the-top proposal and erotic love scenes, but I should have known—after all, Dante is a Morretti.

In the dictionary, under the word alpha male should be a full-length picture of Dante Morretti. The real estate mogul is accustomed to calling the shots. But Jordana Sharpe, the Midwest beauty with the effervescent personality and fiery wit, is having none of it. Friendship be damned. It is high time Dante learned to compromise, because if he doesn’t change his stubborn ways their fake marriage will be over before it even starts!

Writing Jordana and Dante’s love story—a passionate, heartwarming tale about two friends who succumb to their desires and the will of their hearts—I was struck by how much Dante adores his son. Matteo is his world, and their incredible bond made me fall in love with them instantly. I hope you do, too.

Hearing from readers is the highlight of my day, so keep the messages coming! I appreciate you, and I’m humbled by your support. Happy reading.

All the best in life and love,

Pamela Yaye

Seduced by the Mogul

Pamela Yaye

www.millsandboon.co.uk

PAMELA YAYE has a bachelor’s degree in Christian education. Her love for African-American fiction prompted her to pursue a career in writing romance. When she’s not working on her latest novel, this busy wife, mother and teacher is watching basketball, cooking or planning her next vacation. Pamela lives in Alberta, Canada, with her gorgeous husband and adorable but mischievous son and daughter.

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A special thanks to my bestie, Patrice Virtue. Thank you for being the best friend a girl could ever have! I appreciate you babysitting the kids so I could write (and for treating them like your own), and for making me all those delicious dinners, as well. One day soon, I’ll take you to a Toronto Raptors game so we can cheer on your beloved team (courtside seats. I promise!). One love, Patrice.

Contents

Cover

Back Cover Text

Introduction

Dear Reader

Title Page

About the Author

Dedication

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

Copyright

Chapter 1

The Bombardier Challenger 850 Learjet landed at Los Angeles International Airport with such ease and precision, Dante Morretti didn’t realize it was on the ground until he opened his eyes and looked outside the window. The sky was free of clouds, cobalt blue and awash with radiant sunshine. It was another warm, spring day in the City of Angels, and Dante was glad to be home. Though born in Venice, Italy, he loved Los Angeles and would never live anywhere else. Everything he’d ever wanted was in LA—fame, power, prestige. And he was there to stay. At twenty-eight, Dante had a life most men dreamed of, but it wasn’t enough. He wanted greater success, more billionaire clients, and he wasn’t afraid to work hard for it.

“I thought you might be thirsty, so I brought you some mineral water.”

Turning away from the window, Dante regarded the stewardess. She had rosy cheeks and fiery-red hair, and she spoke with a Southern twang. Her black uniform revealed an obscene amount of cleavage, but she wore an innocent, good-girl smile.

“Is there anything else I can do for you?”

Dante dodged her lascivious gaze, instead pretending to stare at the flat-screen TV that was showing the local news. The stewardess had been throwing herself at him ever since he’d boarded his company’s private jet fourteen hours earlier in Hong Kong. But Dante wasn’t interested in joining the mile-high club. Did she read the article in LA Business magazine? Is that why she’s throwing herself at me? Because she wants to sink her teeth into my millions?

As the jet crawled toward the terminal, his mind returned to the photo shoot he’d done three months earlier at his Beverly Hills bachelor pad. He’d given an exclusive sit-down interview to the magazine, and once the April issue had hit newsstands, Dante couldn’t go anywhere without being recognized. Gold diggers propositioned him everywhere—at the gym, on street corners, in restaurants and cafés. The more he resisted them the more aggressive they were. And the only thing Dante hated more than a provocative woman was a cheating one. Like his ex-wife.

Slamming the brakes on his thoughts, he gave his head a hard shake and considered the events of the past week. The magazine article had shined a bright spotlight on The Brokerage Group. Founded in 1998 by three UCLA graduates, the LA-based company specialized in the acquisition, development and construction management of all property types, including shopping malls, condominiums, luxury hotels and office buildings. For five years, Dante had been the chief investment officer of the Fortune 500 company, and in spite of his furious work schedule, he loved his job. His undergraduate degrees in business management and urban planning had given him the necessary tools to excel in the field. He’d led his company to record profits each year and made it look easy.

Pride filled him, turning his frown into a broad smile. Celebrities, politicians and savvy investors from all across the country were eager to do business with The Brokerage Group, and Dante was the reason why. His private company, Morretti Realty & Investments, was making money hand over fist. Thanks to his brothers Emilio and Immanuel, and his cousins Demetri, Nicco and Raphael, his firm had grown by leaps and bounds in the past six years.

“Would you like a back rub? I’ve been told I’m great with my hands.” She leaned against his seat and twirled a lock of hair around her index finger. “Among other things.”

I’m not surprised. I bet you’ve massaged every man you’ve ever met.

“No, thank you—”

“You don’t know what you’re missing,” she continued, in a singsong voice. Her eyes were glued to his crotch, and the expression on her face was pensive, as if she was cooking up mischief. “If you change your mind just give me a shout.”

I won’t, he thought. Trust me. I know trouble when I see it, and you’re it.

The stewardess sashayed down the aisle, switched and swiveled her wide hips. Dante was glad to see her go. Women were a distraction he just didn’t need, and even if he wanted female company—which he didn’t—he wouldn’t hook up with an aggressive redhead with dollar signs in her eyes. It would be someone elegant and classy, with a successful career and her own money. He was a real estate developer, not a bank. Dante was tired of women expecting gifts, jewelry and luxury cars from him. Why can’t I meet someone normal like...Jordana?

At the thought of the Midwest beauty, a smile filled his face. He’d met the Iowa native last year, when she was dating his college buddy Tavares Butler. He’d been impressed with how intelligent she was, how lively and vivacious. The actress was a down-home girl with a big personality, and he’d liked her instantly. When Tavares relocated to Australia last summer for work, he’d asked Dante to look out for her, and he’d readily agreed. Three months later, they’d called it quits, but he suspected Jordana was still in love with her ex. She didn’t date, shot down everyone who asked her out and wouldn’t set foot inside the club. They were friends, but that didn’t stop Dante from admiring her from afar.

The jet stopped abruptly.

Dante stared out the window, but he didn’t see what the holdup was. Thirsty, he picked up his glass and sipped some water. He needed something stronger. The bar was stocked with everything from Cristal to vodka, but he chose to grab a wine cooler. Designed with scrumptious Italian leather, designer fixtures and state-of-the art electronics, the jet had all the comforts of home, and everything Dante needed was at his fingertips.

Yawning, he rubbed the sleep from his eyes. His weeklong business trip to Hong Kong had been taxing, filled with so many late nights and early mornings he felt both physically and mentally drained, though his time abroad had been productive, and he was excited about his latest business venture. The Brokerage Group wanted to build several commercial properties in Asia, and if everything went according to plan, the deal would go off without a hitch and he’d be lauded as a hero.

Ready to leave, Dante slipped on his aviator sunglasses. He’d been up since 5:00 a.m. and was looking forward to going home, putting up his feet and enjoying a cold beer. Or two. He deserved it. He worked fourteen-hour days, six days a week, and if not for the occasional brew—and Matteo—he’d probably be burned out.

Thoughts of his mischievous four-year-old son flooded Dante’s mind. His smile couldn’t be any wider, any brighter. Matteo was his heart, his pride and joy, and his happiest moments were spent chasing him around the house, acting like a goofball to earn a laugh.

The intercom came on.

“I apologize for the delay, Mr. Morretti, but the Boeing 747 in front of us seems to be having mechanical issues and is stuck on the tarmac,” the first officer explained. “We’ll get you to the terminal as soon as we can. Thank you for your patience and understanding.”

Dante returned to his seat, took his iPad out of his briefcase and turned it on. Might as well get some work done while I wait, he decided, typing in his password. The satellite phone sitting on the side table rang, and Dante answered it. Only a handful of people had the number, so he knew the call was important. The moment he heard the voice on the line, his heart stopped. It was his son’s preschool teacher, Ms. Papadopoulos. She sounded troubled, flustered. What was wrong? Did something happen at Beverly Hills Preschool Academy? Panic ballooned inside his chest. Was Matteo hurt? Had he fallen off the jungle gym again?

“Is everything okay?” he asked, despite the knot stuck in his throat.

“Have you heard from your ex-wife?”

Dante frowned, gripping the receiver. “No, I haven’t. Why? Is there a problem?”

“She’s thirty minutes late to pick up Matteo, and she isn’t answering her cell phone.”

Thirty minutes! Damn. How could Lourdes forget to pick up his son? His ex-wife was punctually challenged, but whenever he had spoken to her about being on time she’d shrugged off his concerns. Lourdes had no reason to be late. She didn’t work, hadn’t held a nine-to-five in years, and even though she had joked being beautiful was a full-time job, it wasn’t.

Hanging his head, he raked a hand through his thick black hair. Because of his furious work schedule, he’d agreed to let Lourdes have custody of Matteo, but he wondered for the umpteenth time if he’d made a grave mistake. His ex-wife was petty, thought the world revolved around her and used their son as a pawn. Dante wished Lourdes was a better mother—

Who are you to judge? his conscience interrupted. You see Matteo only once a week.

Dante felt helpless, as if his hands were tied. He wished there was something he could do, but he knew bad-mouthing his ex-wife to Ms. Papadopoulos was not the answer. He had always made a concerted effort to publicly support Lourdes, even when she was dead wrong, and he searched his mind for the right words to say. “I’m really sorry about this—”

“This behavior is unacceptable and hurtful to your son, as well. Every day, Matteo is the last child to get picked up from school, and it breaks my heart to see him cry.”

“Ms. Papadopoulos, this won’t happen again. You have my word.”

“I hope so, Mr. Morretti, because the next time your ex-wife is late to pick up Matteo, I’m contacting the Department of Children and Family Services.”

His spirits sank even lower.

“As an educator, I’m legally and morally obligated to report all forms of abuse and neglect to DCFS. I won’t shirk my responsibilities.”

Stunned, Dante couldn’t speak. Abuse? Neglect? The words rattled around his head, blaring like a police siren. His temperature rose and sweat drenched his blue polo shirt. He felt inept, as if he’d failed as a parent, and his heart throbbed in pain.

Peering out the window, Dante noticed the plane was still hundreds of yards from the terminal, and he willed it to move faster. Hurry up, dammit! I have to pick up my son! Dante opened his mouth to speak, to plead with Ms. Papadopoulos for understanding, but she interrupted him.

“The principal wants to speak to you and your wife about this matter, as well.”

“Ms. Papadopoulos, I’m on my way.”

“We’ll be waiting in the office. Please hurry. Matteo is very upset.”

Click.

Dropping the phone in the cradle, Dante checked the time on his gold wristwatch. Four fifteen. It was rush hour, bumper-to-bumper traffic on the I-10. It would probably take an hour—or longer—to reach Matteo’s preschool. Where is Lourdes? How could she do this? I love Matteo more than anything. Doesn’t she?

Dante dialed Lourdes’s cell number. He drummed his fingers on the table. Her voice mail came on, but her mailbox was full so he couldn’t leave a message. Dante struck the armrest with his fist. Anger burned inside him, surging through his veins. It took everything in him not to punch the wall, every ounce of his self-control.

Expelling a deep breath, Dante considered his next move. He had to find someone to pick up Matteo before Ms. Papadopoulos made good on her threat and called the Department of Child and Family Services. Women’s names and faces flashed in his mind, but since he’d never introduced any of his past lovers to his son, he didn’t feel comfortable asking any of them to help out. Dante considered calling his brother, but he knew it was a waste of time. Markos was either in court, or on the golf course wooing potential clients. A divorce attorney to the stars, who was also a partner at a prestigious law firm, Markos was the most sought-after and esteemed lawyer in the city. He was dating three very different women—a surgeon, an engineer and a drama teacher—and often joked there was more than enough of him to go around.

“Jordana!” The name burst out of his mouth and ricocheted around the cabin. A week ago, she’d left abruptly for her hometown, and after numerous text messages he had learned her mom was sick. To cheer up Ms. Sharpe, he’d sent her a lavish flower bouquet and a gift basket. He’d never met Jordana’s mother, but he hoped to one day, and planned to tell her she’d raised one hell of a woman. Was she back in town, or still taking care of her mom?

There was only one way to find out.

Dante punched in her cell number. Images of her scrolled through his mind, warming his heart. Jordana, with her bright smile and fun-loving personality, reminded him of his kid sister, Francesca. “Hello?”

Happy to hear her voice, he sighed in relief. “I need a favor.”

“Hi, Dante! I’m fine. Thanks for asking. How are you?”

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to be rude,” he said, feeling contrite.

Jordana laughed. “Relax, buddy. I’m just kidding.”

“How was your trip?” Dante asked. He didn’t have time to shoot the breeze, but he was curious to know how her mother was doing. Based on past conversations they’d had, he knew Jordana adored her mom, and he hoped Ms. Sharpe was doing better.

“Good, but it’s great to be back in LA. There’s no place like home.”

“You grew up in Des Moines, remember?”

Jordana groaned. “Ugh, don’t remind me.”

“How’s your mom feeling? All better and on the mend?”

Silence infected the line. Several seconds passed before Jordana spoke.

“She’s coming along,” she said quietly, her tone losing its warmth. “Thanks for sending her flowers. I don’t think I’ve ever seen Helene so excited.”

“It was my pleasure. I’m glad she liked them.”

“You said you needed a favor. What is it?”

“Matteo’s school just called,” he explained, glancing out the window. He couldn’t see anything, but Dante felt the plane moving and knew that was a good sign. “Lourdes was supposed to pick him up at three twenty-five, but she’s missing in action, and I’m stuck at LAX.”

“Oh, no, that’s terrible. I hope she’s okay—”

“Screw her,” he snapped. “Lourdes doesn’t deserve your pity. She’s probably at home screwing the gardener in the house I paid millions for, and forgot all about my son.”

“Dante, Matteo’s her son, too, and I find it hard to believe she’d deliberately hurt him. I know you guys have had your problems in the past, but give Lourdes the benefit of the doubt...”

A bitter taste filled his mouth. Dante was pissed. Mad at himself for marrying Lourdes Faison four years ago. If he could turn back the hands of time, he never would’ve hooked up with the buxom hairstylist on New Year’s Eve. They’d met at an upscale martini bar and had spent a wild, drunken night at his swank bachelor pad. Two months later, Dante learned he was going to be a father. It took weeks for him to come to terms with the news, then he’d done what any stand-up guy would do—he’d popped the question.

Dante scowled. He didn’t have a choice; her father had threatened to kick his ass if he didn’t. His heart wasn’t in it, but since it was the right thing to do, he’d played the role of the devoted fiancé. But just days after their lavish, three-hundred-guest wedding in Palm Springs, Dante had realized he’d made a huge mistake. Lourdes complained incessantly, spent money recklessly and treated his staff like crap. In spite of her diva behavior, he remained committed to their relationship. Coming home from work and seeing his infant son was the highlight of his day. It was what gave him the strength to endure a loveless marriage.

His thoughts wandered, returning to the worst day of his life. One week after their two-year anniversary, Lourdes left their estate with Matteo and filed for divorce. Dante never saw it coming, was blindsided by her deception and betrayal. She went on to publicly humiliate him, telling sensational stories to the newspapers that tarnished his reputation. He’d never forgive her for vilifying him in the press.

“Do you want me to pick up Matteo? I can go get him right now.”

Relief flooded Dante’s body. He could breathe again. “I’ll call Matteo’s school and let them know you’re coming. Thanks, Jordana. You’re the best!”

“I know, and you can tell me how fabulous I am the next time we have lunch at Spago. I’m an aspiring actress who can’t afford to eat at fancy restaurants, so it’s your treat!”

“I’ll take you anywhere you want—”

Hearing the intercom, he broke off speaking and listened intently.

The first officer thanked him for his patience, and Dante jumped to his feet. Putting on his sunglasses, he grabbed his suitcase and marched through the cabin. “I’m leaving LAX now,” he said, jogging down the aisle. “I’ll be there as fast as I can.”

“Don’t rush. I’m going to take Matteo to the park to feed the pigeons.”

“Thanks again, Jordana.”

“No worries, friend. I’ll see you soon.”

Anxious to see his son—and to give his good-for-nothing ex-wife a piece of his mind—Dante jogged down the steps, ducked into the white Lincoln Navigator waiting on the tarmac and told the middle-aged driver to step on it.

Chapter 2

Dante arrived at the Pacific Palisades apartment complex at six o’clock, annoyed he’d spent the past two hours stuck in traffic. Worse, he still hadn’t heard from Lourdes. As the car drove to the entrance of the building, he spotted three men dressed in basketball jerseys and jeans idling near the glass doors. They were smoking, guffawing so loud Dante could hear them through the car windows. He wondered for the umpteenth time why Jordana wouldn’t move to a better area. One with less crime and graffiti and fewer nefarious characters.

La Brea, a diverse, multicultural neighborhood nestled between downtown and Hollywood, was known for its unique architecture, eclectic boutiques and restaurants, and vibrant nightlife. Dante had rental properties all across the city, in posh, affluent neighborhoods such as Bel Air and South Valley, but whenever he encouraged Jordana to move, she’d say, “I can’t leave La Brea. I love it here! These are my people!” Dante didn’t know what that meant, found it odd that she enjoyed the company of hoods and scoundrels, but he kept his thoughts to himself. Although he owned several office buildings in the area, he rarely visited La Brea, and couldn’t remember the last time he’d been to Jordana’s apartment.

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?”

“Who’s this?” croaked a male voice, with a heavy Nigerian accent. “What do you want?”

“I’m glad you asked. My name is Jordana Sharpe, and I’m calling on behalf of—”

“Damn telemarketers,” he grumbled, interrupting her. “Why are you harassing me? Don’t you have better things to do than ruin my day off?”

Jordana pressed her lips together to trap a scream inside. No matter what he said, she’d remain on the line. She had no choice. If she hung up, she’d be sent home without pay, and Jordana needed her paycheck.

“I understand that you are busy, so I will keep this brief.”

“Don’t call here again, stupid.”

Click.

Swiping off her headset, she dropped it on the desk, and slumped in her chair. Jordana released a deep breath, reminding herself not to take the caller’s comments personally. Her job was mentally and emotionally draining, and Jordana didn’t know how much more she could take. She had to put up with being verbally abused—all day, every day—and no one cared. Last month, she’d met with her supervisor, Mr. Lundqvist, but instead of being sympathetic, he’d told her to “suck it up and quit complaining.” Each week things got worse. Jordana wanted out.

But how? If I quit, I won’t be able to pay my rent, or enroll in acting classes. Staring up at the ceiling, with tears in her eyes, Jordana wondered if and when she’d ever get her “big break.” She’d been in LA for six years, and had nothing to show for it except debt, heartache and stress. Maybe her father, Fernán, was right; maybe she was fooling herself. Maybe it was time to pack it up and head home. He had said I’d never make it in this town, and I’m starting to believe him.

Tears pricked her eyes, and emotion clogged her throat, making it hard to swallow. The thought of leaving Los Angeles and returning to Des Moines saddened her. Everything she’d ever wanted was in LA, and she wasn’t ready—or willing—to concede defeat. At least not yet. Jordana snapped out of it, willing herself to be strong. She had an audition tomorrow and a meeting with her agent on Monday. If everything went according to plan she’d be one step closer to fulfilling her dream. She wasn’t giving up now, or ever. It didn’t matter what her dad or anyone else said. She would make it.

A tear spilled down her cheek, and Jordana slapped it away. Needing a moment to compose herself, she put on her shoes, and stood. At times like this, when she was feeling emotional and upset, a change of scenery helped improve her mood. A five-minute break was definitely in order.

“Where do you think you’re going?”

Glancing over her shoulder, she noticed her supervisor standing in the hallway, and strangled a groan. Mr. Lundqvist was a control freak, with bad breath, and his toothy grin made her skin crawl. “I’m going to the ladies’ room.”

“Again?” He raised a thick, bushy eyebrow. “You just went.”

No, I didn’t. Even if I did, what’s it to you? He was in her cubicle, questioning her no less, and had the nerve to look pissed, as if she was giving him the third degree for leaving his desk. Making a conscious decision not to raise her voice, she forced an easy-breezy smile, and spoke in a soft tone. “That’s not true,” she said calmly, resisting the urge to kick him in the shin. “I haven’t left my desk since I arrived this morning.”

“Fine.” Scowling, his face twisted in anger, he tapped the front of his watch with an index finger. “Hurry up. You have two minutes, not a second more.”

Glaring at him, Jordana wondered how many times he’d been dropped on his head as a child. She wanted to tell Mr. Lundqvist to jump off the nearest bridge, but remembered her rent was due at the end of the mouth, and bit the inside of her cheek.

“Get going, Sharpe. I’m timing you.”

Jordana grabbed her tote bag and fled her cubicle. Walking through the office, she noticed how bleak the mood was and stared out the window. Thick clouds covered the sky, and smog cast a dark haze over the city. The dreary weather mirrored her disposition, but Jordana was determined not to wallow in self-pity. She had a lot to be thankful for. She had great friends, auditions coming up, and the best news of all, her mom was healthy again. Painful memories surfaced, but she quickly shook them off, making up her mind to focus on the future, not the past.

In the washroom, Jordana touched up her makeup and assessed her look. Peering into the mirror, she adjusted her leather beaded headband. Her tunic-style dress skimmed her hips, and her fringed sandals drew attention to her legs. Thanks to her Cuban father and Haitian mother, she had wild, unruly curls, a complexion smoother than honey and more curves than a winding road. Dante told her she had an exotic, one-of-a-kind look, but in a city overrun with beautiful women, Jordana didn’t know if he was telling the truth or just being nice.

Images of him filled her mind and a smile overwhelmed her mouth. Dante was one of her best friends, someone she could count on. Jordana felt fortunate to have him in her life. On the surface, they seemed to have nothing in common. She was a small-town girl from a broken home living paycheck to paycheck, and he was a real estate mogul who made millions in his sleep. Surprisingly, their differences drew them together, not apart. Once a week they met at his favorite pub, and over appetizers, they’d have long, intense discussions.

Curious how Dante was doing—and her favorite four-year-old, Matteo—Jordana took her cell phone out of her bag and punched in her password. To her surprise, she had a new text message from Dante, and although it was only two sentences, it made her feel incredibly special. No surprise. The high-powered businessman was in a league of his own, and his thoughtfulness never ceased to amaze her. He wanted to take her to lunch at the best Italian restaurant in the city, and the thought of seeing him again excited her. Funny, considering the first time they met she thought he was an arrogant prick. Over time, she’d realized there was more to Dante than what met the eye, and they’d become fast friends.

Before she could respond to his message, her cell phone rang, and her mom’s picture popped up on the screen.

Dread churned inside the pit of her stomach. Her mom didn’t call often, only when there was a problem at home, and Jordana feared the worst. What was it this time? Was her mom short on money again? Was she calling to beg her to come back home?

Conquering her nerves, she blew out a deep breath, and hit the FaceTime button. A gasp fell from her lips. Mascara stained her mom’s cheeks, and her hair was disheveled, sticking up in every direction. As a child, she’d thought her mom was the most beautiful woman in the world, but life hadn’t been kind to her, and the dark circles under her eyes made her look older than her fifty-eight years. “Mom, what’s wrong?”

“I—I—I got another letter from Wells Fargo,” she stammered.

Confused, she frowned and shook her head. “Another letter?” she repeated, trying to make sense of her mother’s words. “When did you receive the first one?”

Helene sniffed, hanging her head.

“Talk to me, Mom. I want to know what’s going on.”

“I didn’t want to bother you at work, but when I read the notice I got scared and I didn’t know who else to call...” Trailing off, she wiped at her eyes. “I thought of giving your brothers a ring, but these days they never pick up when I call. It’s like they’re avoiding me.”

“Mom, don’t worry. You’re not bothering me. I can talk.” It was a lie, she couldn’t, but Jordana didn’t want to make her mom feel worse than she already did.

Glancing at her bracelet-style watch, she realized she’d been gone for six minutes, and hoped her supervisor wasn’t actually timing her. Mr. Lundqvist took great pleasure in embarrassing people, especially the female staff. But at the moment, Jordana didn’t care. Helene was upset, and she wasn’t going to abandon her mom in her time of need.

“I’m going to lose my house...the house I raised you and your brothers in...”

Hearing a bang, Jordana cranked her head to the right. What was that?

“Jordana, are you in there? You’ve been gone seven minutes. If you don’t come out right this instant I’m writing you up for insubordination!”

Startled, she stared at the bathroom door. Her supervisor was yelling her name like a deranged lunatic, but Jordana didn’t move. Screw him. She’d explain the situation to him later, and if that didn’t work, she’d take the matter to HR. She wasn’t letting a psycho with a superiority complex bully her.

The banging stopped, and Jordana released the breath she was holding.

“Mom, I have to get back to work, but can you read me the letter before I go?”

Panic streaked across her face. Growing up in Haiti in a family of eight, her mother had never gone to elementary school. She didn’t learn to read and write until she immigrated to America at nineteen. In spite of the setbacks she’d faced, Helene had tried her best to be a good mother. She didn’t always get it right, and continued to struggle with her own inner demons, but Jordana adored her mom, loved her more than anything in the world.

Her dad was another story.

At the thought of him, her stomach churned. Fernán, was an athletic recruiter for a professional soccer team. The more money he’d made, the less time he’d spent with their family. He traveled the world, living it up like a frat boy with no responsibilities. Jordana resented him for leaving them behind. And for favoring her two older brothers, Carlito and Raymon. She’d never had a good relationship with her dad, not even when she was a kid, and these days they rarely spoke. They’d had a heated argument at Carlito’s wedding, and a year later Jordana was still seething about the hurtful things he’d said about Helene. For that reason she’d never ask him for financial help. “Take your time, Mom. You can do it.”

Jordana heard papers ruffle, watching as her mom wiped her tear-stained cheeks, and put on her eyeglasses. “Go ahead,” she prompted, with a nod of encouragement. “I’m listening.”

Helene straightened in her chair. Holding her head up high, she rested a hand on her chest and cleared her throat.

“Dear Ms. Sharpe. This letter is a formal notification that you are in default of your obligation to make payments on your home loan, account number 573189. This account holds a current sum of thirty-nine thousand dollars, payable on June 30...”

Her mom struggled to read some of the words, but it didn’t matter. It was a foreclosure notice, the worst piece of mail a homeowner could ever receive, and the more Helene read, the sicker Jordana felt. Slumping against the tile wall, she touched a hand to her clammy face. Her mouth watered, craving a cold drink to quench her thirst. In the past, when she felt stressed, she’d hit the clubs with her girlfriends, dancing and drinking for hours.

God, I’d do anything for a— Jordana pressed her eyes shut, blocked the thought from entering her mind. I’ve changed. I’m a different person now. And I won’t live in the past.

“This amount has been overdue for ninety days, and you have ignored multiple requests to make a payment,” Helene continued. “Unless the current sum is paid by the listed due date, we have no choice but to begin the foreclosure process on your home...”

The air thinned, and the walls closed in, making it impossible for Jordana to breathe. Her head was spinning, throbbing in pain, and her throat was so dry it hurt to talk. “Ninety days? Mom, why haven’t you been making your mortgage payments?”

“I didn’t have the money. My hours were cut, and I don’t have any savings.”

Jordana nodded in understanding. Her mom earned peanuts as a housekeeper, and the families she worked for often canceled at the last minute. “I was just there. Why didn’t you say anything? I could have gone with you to the bank and spoken to the loan officer.”

Helene dropped her gaze to her lap. “I was embarrassed and ashamed.”

Jordana’s heart overflowed with sympathy. Her mom was a proud woman who’d rather go without than ask for help. Jordana understood. She was the same way. What am I going to do? Her salary was barely enough to support herself, let alone Helene. But she’d never forgive herself if she stood by and let the bank take her mother’s home. She considered calling her dad, but he’d made it abundantly clear, on more than one occasion, that Helene wasn’t his responsibility anymore. Her parents had never legally married, and after twelve years together her father had checked out of the relationship, leaving her mother to fend for herself. Her mom had been in financial troubles for as long as she could remember, but even during her worst moments, she’d never seen Helene lose her smile. Until today. She was shaking, sobbing uncontrollably, nothing like the strong, confident woman who’d raised her. “Mom, don’t cry.”

“I don’t want to lose the house. It’s all I have.”

“You won’t. We’ll think of something.”

Helene dabbed at her eyes with her fingertips. “We will?”

“Of course. We’re in this together, right, Mom?”

A sad smile touched her lips. “But, the letter says—”

“I don’t care what the letter says. I’ll get the money.”

“How?” Helene reached into her blouse, took out a Kleenex and blew her nose. “Your brothers will never help, and you earn minimum wage.”

Mom, I know, don’t remind me.

“I’ll think of something. Just trust me, okay?”

“I don’t know what I’d do without you,” she said quietly. “You’re such a good girl.”

“Mom, I have to go. Are you going to your meeting tonight?”

The silence was deafening, lasting so long Jordana had to repeat the question.

“I don’t feel like it. Not tonight. I want to stay home.”

Jordana didn’t push. Not this time. “Okay, Mom. I’ll call you later.”

“Have a good day, honey. I love you.”

“I love you, too, Mom. Try not to worry.”

Ending the call, she dropped her cell in her purse, and tiptoed toward the bathroom door. Opening it, she peered down the hall, in search of her crotchety supervisor. Finding the coast clear, she hustled down the corridor as fast as her ballet flats could take her.

Approaching her cubicle, she heard male voices, and frowned. Her supervisor was talking to someone, and the person sounded a lot like Dante. No way. It couldn’t be. He was surely at his fancy downtown office, not at LA Marketing Enterprises shooting the breeze with her cranky boss.

Turning the corner, she felt her eyes widen and her legs wobble. Jordana stood there, with her mouth agape, unable to believe what she was seeing. Is this for real? Is my supervisor actually laughing with Dante, or am I dreaming with my eyes open?

“There you are!” her supervisor said brightly, his smile showcasing every crooked tooth. “I was just telling Mr. Morretti what a valuable member you are of the LA Marketing team, and how much I enjoy working with you.”

That confirmed it. She was dreaming. Had to be. There was no way in hell her supervisor was publicly praising her. Yelling and screaming, yes; compliments, no.

“Ms. Sharpe, are you okay?”

Dante moved in close, and rested his hand on her arm, giving it a light squeeze.

Goose bumps tickled her skin, and her temperature rose. He was a friend, but he was also a man—a very attractive man who reeked of masculinity—and his touch excited her. In his designer sunglasses and impeccable black suit, Dante was the picture of a young debonair professional at the top of his game. He was hot, no doubt about it, but his appeal didn’t lie in his soulful eyes, and dreamy grin, but in his extraordinary generosity.

“You look upset. Is something the matter?”

Before Jordana could answer, her supervisor spoke up. “Of course not. She’s excited about your business lunch, and anxious to tell you about our wonderful agency.”

Jordana reclaimed her voice. “What business lunch?”

“Ms. Sharpe, I hope you haven’t forgotten our plans.”

What plans? We don’t have any! she wanted to scream, giving him a bewildered, what-are-you-talking-about look. And why are you calling me Ms. Sharpe? We’re friends, not strangers. Heck, I’ve known you for almost two years!

“No, no, of course not,” Mr. Lundqvist said, adamantly shaking his head. He gave Jordana a shove, practically pushing her into Dante’s arms. He spoke in a loud, booming voice, drawing the attention of everyone in the office. One by one, her colleagues poked their heads out of their cubicles. They all wore curious expressions on their faces, and the women were slobbering all over their fancy designer clothes.

That was no surprise. Dante attracted attention everywhere he went.

The real estate mogul had a reputation among women, and the house parties at his Beverly Hills mansion were legendary, but he was more than just a handsome face and hot body. He had a keen mind for business, was as gregarious as they came, and was a great listener. He was, without a doubt, the smartest person Jordana knew, and she valued his friendship. He was always teaching her new things—such as how to select the perfect bottle of wine for a pasta dinner—and if not for his support she probably would have returned to Des Moines a long time ago.

“Ms. Sharpe has been preparing for your meeting for several days now, and she’s anxious to tell you about the charities we support here at LA Marketing Enterprises.”

“I’m happy to hear that, sir.” Dante put on his sunglasses, and took his keys out of his pocket. “It’s been a pleasure speaking with you, and I look forward to doing it again soon.”

Pride covered his fleshy face. “Thank you, Mr. Morretti. I’d like that very much.”

“I’m ready when you are, Ms. Sharpe. Shall we go?”

A giggle tickled Jordana’s throat.

“Do whatever it takes to impress him.” Mr. Lundqvist spoke just loud enough for her to hear. “And don’t come back until you have a sizable donation. Understood?”

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