Tempting the Billionaire Page 4

  She crossed the room and made her way outdoors. During the day, the September air was still pleasant. It was the early mornings and late nights that brought on a chill that reminded her summer was drawing to an end.

  As she neared the Olympic-sized pool, she felt an urge to jump in and sink beneath the crystal clear depths to swim to the other end and back. Instead, she settled for slipping off one of her sandals to dip her toes in the water, causing it to ripple outward.

  Dennis loved to swim.

  She felt sadness, closing her eyes as she remembered his looking back at her over his shoulder before he dived into the deep end of her parents’ pool back in some of the rare moments of free time they had during law school.

  She smiled a bit, remembering how happy they were then.

  That was a long time ago.

  “Excuse me, Ms. Johns.”

  She was surprised by the same waiter who took her drink, now standing beside her with a sandwich on his tray.

  “Courtesy of Olga, the house manager, per the request of Mr. Castillo,” he said.

  Ngozi looked up and bit back a smile at Chance standing in the open doorway, raising his flute to her in a silent toast. Her stomach rumbled again as she bowed her head to him in gratitude. She assumed he had overhead her conversation with the waiter.

  “One sec, please,” she said, holding the man’s wrist to keep her balance as she slipped her damp foot back into her sandal.

  Once done, she took the sandwich and cloth napkin from him and bit into it. Her little grunt was pure pleasure at the taste of seasoned and warmed roast beef with a gooey cheese and a tasty spread on the bread. “Thank you,” she said to him around the food, with a complete lack of the decorum she had been taught by her parents.

  “No problem.”

  As he walked away to finish his duties, Ngozi turned her back to the house and enjoyed the view of the manicured lawns to avoid people watching her eat.

  “Ngozi.”

  Him.

  Her body went on high alert. Every pulse point on her pounded. What is wrong with me? Am I in heat?

  “Yes?” she said, patting the corners of her mouth with the napkin before turning to face him. Wow. He’s fine.

  Chance was nursing his second glass of champagne and squinting from the sun of the late summer season as he eyed her.

  “You shouldn’t drink on an empty stomach,” she said, offering him the other half of the sandwich still on the saucer.

  He eyed it and then her. “My appetite isn’t for food, Ngozi,” he said before taking another deep sip of his drink.

  “The only thing I have for you is half of this sandwich, Mr. Castillo,” she said, keeping her voice cool and even.

  He chuckled.

  “Akwaaba. Akwaaba. Memo o akwaaba.”

  They both turned to find LuLu Ansah, Alek’s mother, standing in the open doorway looking resplendent in traditional African white garb with gold embroidery with a matching head wrap that was simply regal. Both the Ansah and Dalmount families surrounded her, with Alek and Alessandra beside her with the baby in Alessandra’s arms. Both she and Alek looked around before they spotted Chance and Ngozi, waving them over.

  They rushed to take their place, Ngozi gratefully handing the saucer and the remainder of the sandwich to one of the waiters.

  “Welcome. Welcome. We welcome you,” LuLu translated, looking around at everyone gathered with a warm smile that made her eyes twinkle.

  Ngozi leaned forward a bit to eye her goddaughter, who was just eight days old. She was beautiful. A perfect blend of Alek and Alessandra, with tightly coiled ebony hair and cheeks that were already round. She couldn’t wait to hear her name. Alessandra had not budged in revealing it early.

  “Today we are honored to officially present a new addition to our family. We will have both a religious ceremony to baptize our little beauty to ensure she is favored by God, and then an outdooring, which is a traditional Ghanaian ceremony when a baby is taken outside the home for the first time, given a name and prepared with the love and wisdom we all hope for her. Is that okay with you all?” she asked, looking around at the faces of everyone in attendance with a sweet, loving expression.

  People applauded or shouted out their approval.

  “And so, we welcome into our world, our community, our village... Aliyah Olivia Ansah,” LuLu said with pride. “May we all pray for her, guide her and love her.”

  Alessandra pressed a kiss to Aliyah’s head, and then Alek pressed one to her temple.

  She was so loved.

  Ngozi was happy for them and couldn’t help but smile.

  Chapter 3

  Two weeks later

  “Congratulations, Counselor.”

  Ngozi finished sliding her files inside her briefcase and then raised her hand to take the one offered by the Brooklyn district attorney Walter Xavier. She had just served him a loss in his attempt to prosecute her client, an ex-FBI agent, for murder. “You didn’t make it easy,” she told him, matching his steady gaze with one of her own.

  With one last pump of her hand and cursory nod of his head, the man who was her senior by more than thirty years turned and walked out of the courtroom with several staff members behind him.

  Ngozi allowed herself a hint of a smile as she looked down into her briefcase.

  “Ayyeeee! Ayyeeee! Ayyeeee!”

  “Angel!” Ngozi snapped in a harsh whisper, whirling around to eye her newly appointed personal assistant at her loud cry. She found her arm raised above her head, as if she was about to hit a dance move, which took her aback. A win in the courtroom was not the same as getting “turned up” in the club.

  Angel, a twentysomething beauty whose enhanced body made a button-up shirt and slacks look indecent, slowly lowered her hands and smoothed them over her hips.

  “Get out,” Ngozi mouthed with a stern look, seeing that other people in the court were openly eyeing them.

  “What?” she mouthed back, looking confused as she picked up her fuchsia tote from her seat in the gallery and left the courtroom with a pout.

  “Precious Lord,” she mumbled, thankful her client had already been taken back into the holding cell by the court officers.

  Ngozi often went above and beyond for her clients, including hiring a former stripper/escort as her personal assistant to meet the requirements of the probation Ngozi was able to secure. At the firm she had her own staff, clerks, paralegals and junior associates, plus an experienced legal secretary. The last thing she needed was a personal assistant—especially one like Angel, who lacked discernment.

  Two weeks down, two years to go...

  Ngozi gathered the rest of her items and finally left the courtroom. As she made her way through the people milling about the hallway, Angel and her junior associate, Gregor, immediately fell in behind her. Her walk was brisk. She had to get back to the Manhattan office for an appointment with a prospective new client.

  She had a rule on no walking and talking outside the offices of Vincent and Associates Law, VAL, so they were quiet. Once they reached the exit on the lobby level, she saw the crowd of reporters and news cameras awaiting her. This was another huge win for her in a controversial case. She felt confident in the navy Armani cap sleeve silk charmeuse blouse, tailored blazer and wide-leg pants she wore. She had self-assuredly and correctly anticipated the win and made sure to be camera ready—which had included an early morning visit from her hairstylist/makeup artist.

  “Angel, go mannequin-style and say nothing,” she mumbled to the woman.

  “But—”

  A stare from Ngozi ended her statement before it even began.

  They exited the building and then descended the double level of stairs, with Ngozi in the lead. She stopped on the street and the crowd created a semi-arc around them. “Hello, everyone. I am Ngozi Johns of Vincent and Ass
ociates Law. As you know, I am the attorney for Oscar Erscole, who has been successfully exonerated of the charges of murder that were brought against him. After a long and tenuous fight, we are thankful that the jury’s discernment of the facts and the evidence presented in the case has proven what we have always asserted, which is the innocence of Mr. Erscole, who can now rebuild his life, reclaim his character and enjoy his life. Thank you all. Have a good day.”

  With one last cordial smile, she turned from them, ignoring the barrage of questions being fired at her as they made their way through the crowd and to their waiting black-on-black SUVs. Ngozi and Angel climbed into the rear of the first one. She pulled her iPhone from her briefcase and began checking her email. “Back to the office, please, Frank,” she said to the driver, working her thumb against the touch screen to scroll.

  “Now, Ms. J.?” Angel asked, sounding childlike and not twenty-one years of age.

  It wasn’t until the doors were closed and their tinted windows blocked them from view that Ngozi glanced over at Angel and bit the corner of her mouth to keep back her smile. “Now, Angel,” she agreed.

  “Ayyeeee! Ayyeeee! Ayyeeee!” Angel said, sticking out her pierced tongue and bouncing around in her seat. “Congrats, boss.”

  “Thanks, Angel,” Ngozi said, laughing when she saw the driver, a white middle-aged man who liked the music of Frank Sinatra, stiffen in his seat and eye them in alarm via the rearview mirror.

  They continued the rest of the ride in relative silence as Ngozi swiftly responded to emails and took a few calls. When the car pulled to a stop, double-parking on Park Avenue in midtown Manhattan, Ngozi gathered her things back into her briefcase as the driver came around to open the door for her. “Thank you, Frank,” she said, lightly accepting the hand he offered to help her climb from the vehicle and then swiftly crossing the sidewalk with Angel on her heels and the rest of her team just behind her.

  They entered the thirty-five-story beaux arts–style building complete with retail and restaurant space on the lower levels and corporate offices on the remaining thirty-three. Everything about the building spoke to its prominence and prestige. After breezing through security with their digital badges, Ngozi and the others traveled up to the twenty-second floor, where Vincent and Law Associates had occupied the entire twenty-two thousand square feet for the last twenty years, housing nearly fifty private offices, a dozen workstations, several conference rooms, a pantry, reception area complete with a waiting space and other areas essential for office work. The offices of the senior partners, including the one her father had vacated upon his retirement, were on half of the floor of the next level up.

  Vincent and Associates Law was a force with which to be reckoned. Her father had begun his firm over forty years ago with his expertise in corporate and banking law. Over the years, he acquired smaller firms and attorneys with proven records of success in other specialties to expand and become a goliath in the Northeast and one of the top five hundred law firms in the country.

  To know that her father spearheaded such power and prominence made her proud each and every time she walked through the doors. It had been no easy ride for an African American man, and her respect for her father was endless. And she was determined to rightfully earn her spot as a senior partner and claim the office that sat empty awaiting her—when the time was right.

  It was one of the few goals for her that they shared.

  Ngozi moved with an Olivia Pope–like stride as she checked her Piaget watch. The team separated to go to their own offices or workstations in the bright white-on-white interior of the offices. Angel took her seat at a cubicle usually reserved for law interns. “Angel, order lunch. I want it in my office as soon as my meeting is over,” Ngozi said as she continued her stroll across the tiled floors to her glass corner office.

  “Champagne or brandy, boss?” her legal assistant, Anne, asked as she neared.

  Champagne to celebrate. Brandy to commiserate.

  Ngozi bit her cheek to keep from smiling. “Champagne,” she said with a wink, doing a little fist pump before entering her office and waving her hand across the panel on the wall to close the automated glass door etched with her name.

  She didn’t have much time to marinate on the win. She took her seat behind her large glass desk and unpacked several files, her tablet and her phone from her suitcase. After checking the online record of messages sent to her by those at the reception desk, she tucked her hair behind her ear and lightly bit the tip of her nail as she stared off, away from her computer monitor, at a beam of sunlight radiating across the floor and the white leather sofa in her conversation area.

  Bzzzzzz.

  Her eyes went back to the screen.

  A Skype call from Reception. She accepted the video option instead of the phone one. The face of Georgia, one of the firm’s six receptionists, filled the screen. “Ms. Johns. Your one o’clock appointment, Mr. Castle of CIS, is here.”

  “Thank you, Georgia, send him in,” she said.

  Ngozi turned off her monitor and cleared her desk. She glanced through the glass wall of her office and then did a double take.

  Him.

  All her senses went haywire as she watched the handsome charmer make his way past the workstations in the center of the office with the ease of a well-trained politician. A smile here, a nod there.

  And it was clear that a lot of the women—and a few of the men—were eyeing him in appreciation.

  Chance Castillo was undeniably handsome, and the navy-and-olive blazer he wore with a navy button-up shirt and dark denim were stylish and sexy without even trying.

  She hadn’t seen him since the festivities for their goddaughter, Aliyah.

  “What is he up to?” she mumbled aloud as she settled her chin in one hand and drummed the fingernails of the other against the top of her desk.

  When Angel jumped up to her feet and leaned over the wall of her cubicle, Ngozi rolled her eyes heavenward. Especially when he paused to talk to her. Soon they both looked down the length of the walkway, at her office.

  His smile widened at the sight of her in the distance.

  Ngozi raised her hand from the desk and waved briefly at him with a stiff smile before bending her finger to beckon him to her.

  By the time he reached her office, there were many pairs of eyes on him.

  She pressed the button on her desk to open the door as she rose to her feet. “Very slick of you, using the English version of Castillo, Chance,” she said, extending her hand to him as she would any client—new or old.

  “I didn’t want to risk you canceling to avoid me,” he said, taking her hand in his.

  It was warm to her touch.

  She gently broke the hold, reclaiming her seat. “So, you’re clear on me wanting to avoid you, then?” she asked.

  “Damn, you’re smart,” Chance said, walking around her office.

  His presence made it seem smaller.

  “Um, excuse, Ms. J.”

  Both Ngozi and Chance looked over to find Angel standing in the open doorway.

  “Yes?” Ngozi asked, noting to herself that the young’un usually avoided work (in other words, coming to her office) at all costs.

  “I wondered if you were ready for lunch?” Angel asked Ngozi with her eyes on Chance.

  He turned his attention back to the bookshelves lining the wall.

  “Yes, I already asked you to order lunch, remember? And is there something wrong with all the communication available between us...from your desk?” Ngozi asked, pointing her finger in that direction.

  Angel smiled as she tucked a loose strand of her four bundles of waist-length weave behind her ear. She used to wear her hair in voluminous curls that gave her a hairdo like the Cowardly Lion from the Wizard of Oz. Ngozi had requested she wear it straight and pulled back into a ponytail while at work. Thankfully, she acquiesced.
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  “I also wanted to ask if you or your guest wanted somethin’ to drink?” Angel asked, cutting her appreciating eyes on Chance again.

  “No, thank you,” Ngozi said politely, as she jerked her thumb hard a few times toward Angel’s workstation.

  With one last look at Chance’s tall figure behind his back, Ngozi’s young assistant reluctantly left them alone, but not before flicking her tongue at him in a move Ngozi knew had been a hit during her former profession. She added a long talk on not flirting with clients on the long mental list of things to school Angel on.

  She closed the automated door.

  Chance turned to eye it before focusing his attention on her. “She’s...unexpected,” he mused with a slight smile.

  That she is.

  Some of the partners were still not fully sold on her working there.

  “No pictures,” Chance observed, walking up to her desk.

  “Too many reminders of death,” she said truthfully, without thinking to censor herself.

  “Death?” he asked.

  “Nothing,” she muttered, sitting back in her chair as she eyed him. “I’m sure you didn’t set up a fake appointment with me just to survey my office.”

  Chance shook his head as he folded his frame into one of the chairs facing her desk. “Fake name. Real appointment. I would like you to represent me,” he explained.

  That surprised her, and her face showed it. She reached for a legal pad and one of her favorite extrafine-point pens filling a pink-tinted glass bowl on the corner of her desk. The firm had every technological advance available, but she preferred the feel of a pen on paper when assessing the facts of a new case. “Typically, I handle criminal cases,” she began.

  “I know,” Chance said, smiling at her. “Congratulations on your win this morning.”

  “Thank you,” she said graciously, wondering if his smile had the same effect on all women the way it did on her. “You saw the news?”

  He nodded. “You looked beautiful, Ngozi.”

  Thump-thump-thump-thump-thump.

  She fought for nonchalance as her heart pounded wildly, seeming to thump in her ears. “And smart,” she added.