Twice the Temptation

“You know you’re wrong, Denise Eaton.”

“Hang up, Chandra.”

“Good night.”

Denise ended the call, pressed her head to the back of the chair and closed her eyes. She couldn’t believe she’d allowed herself to be victimized by a man who held the future of her business venture in his grasp. Rhett knew the importance of reliable and quality day care. He’d grown up with latchkey kids who were left home alone because their parents had to work and couldn’t afford to pay someone to look after their children. Social workers from children’s services made regular visits to his neighborhood to follow up on complaints stemming from abuse and neglect of children who were unsupervised at night and into the early morning hours. Rhett had been one of the luckier children because his aunt babysat him until he was school-age.

She opened her eyes, struggling not to let the tears filling her eyes spill over. She’d accused Rhett of blackmail and sexual harassment, while he’d called it negotiating. The only saving grace was they wouldn’t sleep together. Making love to Rhett Fennell was akin to smoking crack. The addiction was instantaneous.

Forcing herself to rise from the comfy chair, Denise went through the motions of undressing. Then she walked into the en suite bathroom to remove her makeup. Twenty minutes later she touched the switch, turning off the wall sconce and floor lamp. Her eyelids were drooping slightly when she pulled back the comforter and slipped between cool, crisp sheets. Reaching over, she turned off the lamp on the bedside table, and this time when she closed her eyes she didn’t open them again until a sliver of light poured in through the octagonal window over the sitting area.

Rhett massaged his forehead with his fingertips as he compared the bottom line for three years of profit and loss statements for Chambers Properties, Ltd. A steady decline in profits was an obvious indicator that the company was ripe for the picking.

After reuniting with Denise Eaton, he’d thrown himself into his work with the voracity of a starving man at a banquet. Work and more work had not diminished his anxiety at being unable to get her out of his head.

During the walk back to the hotel, after having made certain she was safely in her car, Rhett had replayed the two hours they’d spent together. Even when he’d executed what some had called his “sucker punch” takeover, he hadn’t felt as ashamed as he had now. His quest for revenge had gone beyond what he deemed ethical. He’d used his money and the power that went along with it to intimidate and bully a woman who’d sacrificed her time and money to provide essential services to a low-income and working-class community.

Although he’d threatened to double the rent for the child care facility, Rhett knew he never would’ve gone through with it. After all, he wasn’t that far removed from his humble roots to ignore the importance of adequate child care. He was luckier than most of the children from his neighborhood because his maternal aunt had looked after him while his mother worked long hours waiting tables.

When he was six years old, Geraldine Fennell had enrolled him in Marshall Foote Academy, a prestigious boarding school in northern Virginia, where he’d returned home during the summer months and holidays. He’d studied harder than any other boy at the prep school, and after a year his mother had been able to qualify for financial aid. For every grade of ninety and above, the tuition for that term had been waived.

Rhett had learned early in life that he was smart. But he hadn’t realized how smart he actually was until it had come time for exams. One of his instructors had accused him of cheating because he’d written verbatim the answer he’d read in his textbook. It was only after Geraldine had been summoned to the school for a conference with the teacher and headmaster that they had become aware of his photographic memory. He was able to recall whole paragraphs from textbooks without thinking about it.

It had been the first and only time he’d seen his mother lose her temper. And it had been the only time he’d forgotten some of the words she’d flung at the red-faced men. Once they’d apologized profusely, Geraldine had returned to D.C., Rhett had been escorted back to his dormitory and the headmaster had chastised the instructor for embarrassing him and jeopardizing the academy’s reputation with unsubstantiated allegations when he’d accused their best student of cheating.

Attending the academy had afforded him the opportunity for a quality education. He’d also managed to escape the social problems that plagued his poor urban neighborhood.

Yes, he’d made it out and he’d made a difference. But the differences were quiet, subtle. And with every company he took over, Rhett always looked after the employees. Those who wanted out he offered a generous severance package. Those who didn’t, he created positions for them—even if he had to reduce their salaries. The rationale was at least they had a paycheck.

The buzz of the intercom interrupted his reverie. “Yes, Tracy.”

“Your uncle is here.”

Rhett smiled. “Tell him I’ll be right out.” He took a quick glance at the clock on his desk. “I’ll probably be gone for the rest of the day. Take messages and if there’s anything you can’t handle, then call me on my cell.”

“No problem, Rhett,” said his executive assistant.

He’d hired Tracy Powell when his office had been nothing more than a twelve-by-twelve second bedroom in his apartment after he’d earned an MBA from Wharton business school. He’d purchased two used desks, installed a telephone line separate from his personal one and he and the part-time bookkeeper/secretary/receptionist grew a company from two to fourteen employees.

After two years, Rhett rented space in an office building in downtown D.C., and now he owned a four-story town house blocks from Dupont Circle. The first three floors were occupied by his various holding companies. And when renovations on the fourth floor were completed Rhett would move into what would become his private apartment. His decision to live in the same building where he worked was because he’d found himself spending more time there than he had at his condominium. He’d sold the condo and had temporarily moved into the hotel while the contractor renovated the space.

What he constantly reminded himself was that other than his mother, he had no family. His grandparents were dead and so was the aunt who’d looked after him. There was only he and his mother, who’d found happiness with a sixty-year-old widower who adored her.

Rhett knew his reluctance to settle down with a woman stemmed from his relationship with Denise Eaton. The first time he’d slept with her he knew he wanted her to be the only woman in his life. What he hadn’t known at the time was that she wouldn’t be. There had been women after Denise—more than he’d willingly admit—to fill up the empty hours or to slake his sexual frustration.

Then everything had changed when a woman had accused him of leading her on, that she’d expected a commitment that would eventually lead to marriage. He’d made a decision not to date or sleep with women. It was during this time that he’d been forced to reexamine his wanton behavior and acknowledge his selfishness.

Women were not his playthings. They were not receptacles for his lust or frustration. They wanted more than a slam bam thank you ma’am. When he’d finally told his mother about the revolving door of women in and out of his life, her comeback had been he should think of them as his sister—did he want a man to treat her with a total disregard for her feelings? The analogy had been enough for him to stop his self-destructive behavior.

Rolling down and buttoning the cuffs of his shirt, Rhett reached for the jacket to his suit and walked out of his office. He nodded in the direction of the man lounging on a leather chair in the waiting alcove outside his office.

Tracy Powell peered over her half-glasses, a profusion of salt-and-pepper braids framing her smooth goldbrown face. She couldn’t understand why the rumpled-looking older man hadn’t taken a hint from his young nephew and put on something that didn’t look as if it had just come out of the washing machine.

“Enjoy your lunch,” she called out to the two men.

Rhett gave her a wink. “Thank you.”

He walked with Eli Oakes to the elevator, taking it to the street level. Moments after stepping out into the bright sunlight, they exchanged a handshake. Eli wasn’t his uncle, but a private investigator. When he’d met Eli for the first time, Rhett thought of him as kind of a black Columbo. Eli even wore a wrinkled trench coat during cooler, rainy weather. The former police officer admitted to being forty-seven, a confirmed bachelor and a recovering alcoholic. Tall and gangly with smooth sable-brown skin, the man’s innocuous appearance was a foil for a sharp mind that noted details most people were likely to overlook.

“Where do you want to eat?”

Eli put on a pair of sunglasses, then ran a hand over his stubbly pate. “I had a big breakfast, so I don’t need anything too heavy.”

Rhett rested a hand on the older man’s shoulder. “There’s a new restaurant on Massachusetts that features salads and wraps and vegetarian dishes. We can try it if you want.”

Eli smiled. “Let’s try it.”

“What do you have for me?” Rhett asked after he and Eli gave the waitress their orders.

Reaching into the pocket of his jacket, Eli pulled out a folded sheet of paper. “See for yourself.” He pushed it across the table.

Rhett unfolded the page of type. His expression didn’t change as he read the information the investigator had come up with on Trey Chambers. “He’s a busy boy,” he murmured. “No wonder his business is in the toilet.”

Eli picked up a glass of sweet tea, taking a long swallow. “What I didn’t include in that report is that Chambers spends a lot of time at the track.”

Rhett digested this information as he counted the number of boards on which Trey Chambers either chaired or was a member. What surprised him was Eli’s claim that Trey had a gambling problem. When they were in college together he hadn’t remembered the business major gambling. Even when coeds were placing bets during March Madness, Trey hadn’t participated.

“Is he winning or losing?”

Eli shrugged his shoulders under his jacket. “Both. He made a bundle betting on the Derby and Preakness, but we’ll have to see what he does with the Belmont Stakes.”

“Trey was never much of a gambler.”

A sly smile parted the lips of the man whose decorated law enforcement career had ended after he’d been injured in a hit-and-run when he’d gone out early one morning to buy the newspaper. He’d lain in a coma for several months; when he’d emerged he submitted his retirement papers and went into private investigation. “Trey’s daddy is no longer collecting wives, but horses. That could explain Junior’s sudden interest in the ponies.”

Rhett wanted to tell Eli that if the Chambers were winning at the track, they weren’t putting it back into their real estate business. Chambers Properties owned large parcels of land in Baltimore and D.C., and there was one tract not far from Baltimore Harbor that Chambers wanted. Rhett, also interested in the property, had submitted a bid.

The waitress approached the table, setting down a plate with a tuna salad with sprouts on a bed of lettuce for Eli and a bowl of Caesar salad for Rhett.

Over lunch, the topic of conversation changed to sports—baseball and the upcoming football season. The two men talked about trades and drafts, becoming more animated when they argued good-naturedly about teams they predicted would win the World Series and Super Bowl. Most of the lunch crowd had thinned out when Rhett paid the check and slid an envelope across the table.

Eli picked up the envelope, peering into its contents. “What’s up with the cash?” Rhett usually gave him a check as payment for his services.

“Think of it as a mid-year bonus.”

Lines of consternation were etched into Eli’s forehead. “A bonus for what?”

Rhett wanted to tell the man to take the money and stop asking so many questions, but he knew once a cop always a cop. He didn’t want Eli to think he was trying to set him up, which was why he always paid him with a check and at the end of the year issued a 1099 for his personal services.