Man of Fantasy

Everything changed for Duncan when his fiancée died in the bombing of the World Trade Center. Finding himself at a crossroads, he retreated from the frenzied world of Wall Street banking and investing to set up his own company.

Ivan’s career also underwent a transformation when the Washington, D.C., mental-health foundation he’d headed for years lost its funding. Ivan transferred his private patients to another therapist, sold his Georgetown home and returned to his Harlem roots.

“First the lovebug bit Kyle, now you, DG? What’s going on?”

“It’s all good, Ivan. I never thought I’d find someone I could love after losing Kali, but I was wrong. And I have you to thank for that.”

“You came to me as a patient and not a friend, so I told you what I tell all my patients, given your circumstances. Now you and Tamara are planning a wedding.”

“You didn’t answer my question, Ivan.”

“What’s that?”

“Will you be my best man?”

“Of course I’ll be your best man, DG.”

“Thanks.”

“Where’s the wedding?” Ivan asked. Kyle and Ava Warwick had planned a Valentine’s Day wedding in Puerto Rico.

“It’ll be in New York. Tamara and I decided to have it on one of the yachts that sail along the Hudson River.”

“I’ll make certain to block out the first week in June. Congratulations and give Tamara my best.”

“I’ll tell her.”

“Have you told Kyle you’re getting married?” Ivan asked.

“I just spoke to him. He said we should set up an MNO at least once a month.”

Ivan smiled. “Are you certain your woman will allow you a men’s night out?” he teased.

“You’re talking crazy, brother. Are you equating marriage with being on lockdown? I think you’ve been dating the wrong women.”

“It’s not about dating the wrong women, DG. It’s just that I don’t want to commit to one woman.”

There was an uncomfortable silence before Duncan said, “You should try it, Ivan. At least once before you get too old.”

“On that note, I’m going to hang up on you, Duncan. Are you going into the office tomorrow?”

“No. Tamara’s off tomorrow, so we’re going to look at rings.”

“Let me know when you both have the same weekend off, because I’d like to host a party for you.”

“I know you’re not cooking, Ivan.”

“Very funny, DG,” he sneered. “Just because I don’t grill that well doesn’t mean I can’t cook.”

Duncan’s deep chuckle came through the earpiece. “I can’t eat what you grill, and I’ve never eaten anything you’ve cooked.”

“On that note, I suggest you hang up, DG, or you’ll find yourself looking for another best man.”

“You wouldn’t!”

“No, I wouldn’t, DG. No matter what happens, you can count on me to be your best man.” The ring of the doorbell echoed throughout the apartment. “I’m sorry, but I’m going to have to hang up on you. I’m expecting a visitor.”

“I’ll see you Tuesday. And thanks, Ivan.”

“No problem, DG.” Ivan hung up and pressed a button on the intercom. “Yes?”

“It’s Nayo.”

“I’ll be right with you.” Pressing another button, he buzzed open the lock to the outer door, and then went up the stairs to the second floor to answer the door. He hadn’t expected Nayo to come so quickly.

When Ivan opened the door, he didn’t realize he was staring. Nayo Goddard looked nothing like the woman he’d met at the gallery. Her fresh-scrubbed face made her look as if she were a teenage girl. She’d brushed her short hair until there was barely a hint of a curl. A black, hip-length leather jacket, turtleneck sweater, jeans and low-heeled boots had replaced her tailored blouse, skirt and heels. Nayo smiled and the dimple in her left cheek winked at him.

He returned her smile with a warm one of his own. “I’m forgetting my manners. Please come in.”

Nayo realized she hadn’t just imagined the sensual, brooding face of the man welcoming her into his home. Ivan Campbell wasn’t what women would call a pretty brother, but he was without a doubt a very attractive man. And the stubble on his lean face served to enhance his masculinity.

The perfectly proportioned body she’d glimpsed through the cut of his suit was blatantly displayed in a white cotton pullover sweater and jeans. Instead of slip-ons, he had on running shoes.

As she stepped into the vestibule, a wave of warmth enveloped her. A mahogany staircase with carved newel posts led to the upper floors. Her gaze shifted to what appeared to be a credence table that supported a large Tiffany-style table lamp. A leather chair with decorative walnut trim complemented the furnishings in the space.

Her fingers traced the surface of the table. “Where did you get this table?”

Ivan stared openly at Nayo, whose head barely came to his shoulder. “I inherited it.”

Nayo’s delicate jaw dropped slightly as the notion that the table might not be a reproduction registered. “Do you mind if I ask from whom?”

“I got it from the grandmother of a former patient who lived in the D.C. area. It’d been in her family for generations.”

“It’s not a reproduction.” Her question was a statement.

“No. It’s an original. I believe it was made sometime around 1680.”

Nayo stared longingly at the semicircular side table that folded out and was supported by a gateleg frame. She knew that similar antique tables were made of either walnut or oak in Britain around the second half of the seventeenth century. The space-saving tables were used in the nineteenth century to prepare the sacraments in English churches, hence the term credence table, which refers to church tables.

“Have you had it appraised?”

Ivan nodded. “I had to for insurance purposes.”

“But why leave it out here when anyone could damage it?”

“You should’ve seen it before I had it restored. I was shocked when it came back looking almost like new.”

Nayo traced the molding around the drawer with her fingertips. “This should be in a museum.” Her head came up and she met Ivan’s intense gaze. “Has anyone asked you to loan it to a museum?”