8,99 €
Mehr erfahren.
- Herausgeber: Revelry Publishing
- Kategorie: Gesellschafts- und Liebesromane
- Sprache: Englisch
- Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2017
A BWWM Billionaire Romance Story
Adalia is too proud to accept help from the billionaire playboy, Trent Dawson. How long can she maintain her resolve?
***Due to sexually graphic content and language that some may find offensive, this book is intended for mature readers only***
This complete set contains Books 1 to 4
Book 1 - Love Deceived
Adalia Montclair has never taken a hand out in her life. She’s worked her way up and is a not-so-successful business owner following her dream of running her own bakery. Everything is going just fine, until sexy white billionaire, Trent Dawson, appears on the scene to woo her with his money, charm and blatant disregard for her insistence that she doesn’t need a man to help her.
But a surprise visit throws everything into disarray when Trent shows the side of himself she’d feared he possessed all along.
Book 2 - Love Forgiven
Adalia is broken after a keen betrayal and the loss of her lifelong dream: her very own bakery. But she has to carry on, especially now that she’s back living under her father’s roof and has her semi-abusive ex-boyfriend’s advances to contend with. She’s determined to continue baking, even if she has to work at the local market for the rest of her days, but she can’t shake thoughts of Trent and what happened between them.
Adalia has never been one to take handouts, but her father’s dire financial situation isn’t getting any better.
Book 3 - Love Endured
Adalia Montclair is determined to be more than Mrs. Dawson. She’s going to start her own catering business. But a surprise pregnancy throws a wrench in the works, in the form of her new husband himself. Trent is determined to keep Adalia safe, even if it means keeping her at home and away from her dreams, a fate she can’t abide, even with a baby on board. Still, even with tension growing, Adalia can’t keep her eyes or hands off her husband.
The balance between work and love isn’t easy, and tipping the scales in the wrong direction may mean the end of their marriage, before it’s truly begun.
Book 4 - Love Everlasting
Adalia has just received the worst news of her entire life… news so bad, it threatens to tear apart her marriage if not her soul. Her son, Isaac, is gravely ill, and the only way to save him is a revolutionary treatment which will cost a lot of money. But a lot of money is exactly what Trent doesn’t have, now that Space Inc. has gone under because of the space shuttle malfunction which killed the crew onboard. He is wrapped up in litigation and has to lean on Adalia’s brother for help. Without the money, Isaac’s condition will only worsen, and it’s up to Adalia and Trent to find a way to save him.
She’s determined to save her child, but the harder she tries, the more she neglects her marriage, and the more difficult it becomes to keep her head above water. Just when she thinks they’ve found a way to solve all their problems, a visit to Doctor Matheson and his oncological specialist, drives the couple into a deeper state of despair.
Time is running out and only by working together can Adalia and Trent save their son.
Download the complete box set to read the entire story.
Das E-Book können Sie in Legimi-Apps oder einer beliebigen App lesen, die das folgende Format unterstützen:
Ähnliche
WARNING
This book contains sexually explicit scenes and adult language. It may be considered offensive to some readers. This book is for sale to adults ONLY.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Please store your files wisely where they cannot be accessed by underage readers.
Copyright 2017 by Revelry Publishing
All Rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this book. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse-engineered or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known, hereinafter invented, without express written permission of the publisher.
DISCLAIMER
This book is a work of FICTION. It is not to be confused with reality. Neither the author nor the publisher or its associates assume any responsibility for any loss, injury, death or legal consequences resulting from acting on the contents in this book. The characters, incidents and dialogue are drawn from the author’s imagination and are not to be construed as real. While reference might be made to actual historical events or existing locations, the names, characters, places and incidents are either products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental. Every character in this book is over 18 years of age. The author’s opinions are not to be construed as the opinions of the publisher. The material in this book is for entertainment purposes ONLY. Enjoy.
Other books by Shyla Starr:
Persuasive Billionaire BWWM Romance Series
Stacey is trying to keep a handle on her life the best that she can. She is on the verge of losing her job and her apartment, while taking care of her sick grandmother. Her life takes an unexpected turn when she meets Charlie, who works for the construction company that is attempting to persuade her to move out of her home.
Elusive Billionaire Romance Series
Billionaire Hendrick is trying to repair his company’s image by putting in some volunteer work, building a school and hospital for the impoverished children in Africa. There, he meets a beautiful African American volunteer, Jocelyn. They hit it off right away but does she belong in his world?
Lonely Billionaire Romance Series
Tricia was hired to care for billionaire John’s wife, who is dying. An unlikely romance emerges after his wife, Rebecca, gives John permission to pursue his happiness after she is gone.
Ardent Billionaire Romance Series
Deirdre doesn't know what to make of the gorgeous man that seems to be interested in her. His name is Parker Walters and he seems friendly enough. There is just something off about him. Why is he trying the hide the fact that he is the heir to his father's billion dollar software empire?
Fervent Billionaire BWWM Romance Series
Alexandra had never been with a white man before. She had seen William at the café before but she always kept her distance. It was unfortunate that their first chance meeting happened when she dropped her breakfast and spilled coffee all over his expensive business suit.
Audacious Billionaire BWWM Romance Series
Chante is torn between staying close to a man beyond her league, and fleeing from him to spare herself from a hopeless position. But she finds she is propelled into a place where she needs to confront her doubts and cast her fate aside to follow the dictates of her heart. Damned if she does and miserable is she doesn’t, how will Chante face the events that will lead her to a place of pure happiness or to the pits of a broken heart?
Get the latest update on new releases from the author at:
https://shylastarr.com/newsletter/
This book contains all the stories of the “Tenacious Billionaire BWWM Romance Series”
Book 1 - Love Deceived
Adalia is too proud to accept help from the billionaire playboy, Trent Dawson. How long can she maintain her resolve? The bank is at her heels to repossess her business. To make matters worse, Adalia finds suspicious evidence of Trent's philandering ways. She must determine whether to trust Trent with the fate of her business and her heart.
Book 2 - Love Forgiven
Adalia is broken after a keen betrayal and the loss of her lifelong dream: her very own bakery. But she has to carry on, especially now that she’s back living under her father’s roof and has her semi-abusive ex-boyfriend’s advances to contend with. She’s determined to continue baking, even if she has to work at the local market for the rest of her days, but she can’t shake thoughts of Trent and what happened between them.
Book 3 - Love Endured
Adalia Montclair is determined to be more than Mrs. Dawson. She’s going to start her own catering business. But a surprise pregnancy throws a wrench in the works, in the form of her new husband himself. Trent is determined to keep Adalia safe, even if it means keeping her at home and away from her dreams, a fate she can’t abide, even with a baby on board. Still, even with tension growing, Adalia can’t keep her eyes or hands off her husband.
Book 4 - Love Everlasting
Adalia has just received the worst news of her entire life. Her son, Isaac, is gravely ill, and the only way to save him is a revolutionary treatment which will cost a lot of money. But a lot of money is exactly what Trent doesn’t have, now that Space Inc. has gone under. Time is running out and only by working together can Adalia and Trent save their son. Their son’s illness and Michelle’s interference threatens to tear them apart, but Adalia isn’t one to give up that easily.
Tenacious Billionaire BWWM Romance Series
Books One to Four
By Shyla Starr
Copyright Revelry Publishing 2017
Table of Contents
Book One
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Book Two
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Book Three
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Book Four
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Other Books by Shyla Starr
About the Author – Shyla Starr
Connect with Shyla Starr
Book One
Chapter One
“I LIKE your buns.” The customer’s voice was creamy, with a hint of spice. “How much are they?”
“Excuse me?” Adalia glanced up from behind the cash register and glared at the man.
“Your buns,” he answered, flashing a naughty grin at her.
Heat erupted in her core.
It was him. The guy. He came in every day in that Prada suit, no suitcase, and flaunted his perfect jawline and wavy blond hair. Adalia’s stomach did a turn, but she steadied herself mentally.
Come on, it’s just a customer. Same as any other in the bakery.
“Can I help you with something?” She asked the same question each day when he came in. Then it would begin.
“That depends.” The gorgeous man strolled over and rested his elbows on the glass of the counter that displayed treats and sweets.
“On what, exactly? It’s pretty simple,” she answered. “Either you want the buns or you don’t.”
“Oh,” he replied, interlocking his fingers and resting his chin on them. “I want the buns. You can count on that.” He reached out and brushed her forearm with the tips of his fingers. Sparks danced across her ebony skin.
Adalia cleared her throat gently, but didn’t move away. It was the first time he’d touched her, and she’d honestly fantasized about the moment for weeks.
“Which buns would you like?” She breathed the words, and he leaned in close enough that she caught a whiff of his cologne. It was a masculine, woody scent and it suited him perfectly.
Warning alarms went off in her head – this guy was clearly a player, well put together, with that easy charm – but they were drowned out by her attraction to him.
“Yours,” he uttered, “every day, for the next month. Every night, too.”
Adalia narrowed her chocolate brown eyes at him. She’d given up trusting anyone a long time ago, let alone suave white strangers with a clear desire for more than a carb fix.
“I wouldn’t advise you eat that many carbs. And you’ve yet to specify which type of buns you’d like, sir.” She gave a sweet smile she didn’t feel in her gut.
Why couldn’t she shake her attraction to this guy? She’d just gotten out of a relationship with DeShawn, just started the healing process. She had to focus on getting the bakery on track, not on some sexy dude with a fetish for curvy women.
God, wouldn’t it be nice if he had a fetish for – No!
He studied her expression with a grin that made her insides go melty like tempered chocolate.
“I think you know which buns I want.”
“Cinnamon,” she answered, reaching over for a brown paper bag beneath the glass fronted cabinet. In the back, one of her bakers slammed a tray in the oven and cursed.
Irritation flickered through her – they never treated those ovens with respect – but she kept a straight face.
“No, no,” he answered, then grasped her wrist again, and heat waves assaulted her. “I’m in the mood for chocolate today.”
She stared him dead in the eye, willing the arousal to back the hell down. “Smooth,” she said wryly.
“Excuse me, miss. I’d like to pay?” said a hunched over granny, clasping a box of éclairs.
“Sorry, ma’am,” Adalia replied, sparing a frown for the handsome businessman. He winked a blue eye at her and she swallowed hard. “That will be five dollars.”
“Five dollars,” the lady answered, squinting a little and stretching to pat her curlers. Adalia glanced at ‘Handsome Guy’ again. He hadn’t looked away, and their gazes were glued for a moment. “I’ll tell you, it’s a pity these éclairs are so good, dearie. You’re going to have me on the streets at this rate.”
“I’m glad you like them,” Adalia replied. That was the plain truth: with the bills piling up, every happy customer helped pave the pathway to financial success. Losing her lifelong dream wasn’t an option. “Can I get you anything else?”
“Oh no, dear. Perhaps the recipe so I can make these for myself at home.” The old woman’s wrinkled façade split into a friendly smile. “No, I’m joking, of course. I quite enjoy the trip into the city for these treasures.” She lifted one from the bag and took a bite. Cream squished out the sides and smeared onto her cheek.
“I’ll get you a napkin.” Adalia fumbled for them beside the register, but Handsome Guy was already on it.
He swept out a handkerchief and handed it to the customer with a courteous bob of his head.
“Thank you,” the lady breathed, accepting it with a flutter of her eyelids. “My, what a dashing young fellow. You certainly are a lucky woman.” She directed that at Adalia.
“What? He’s not my –”
“Not as lucky as I am,” he put in, and gestured for the customer to keep the soft square of linen. She thanked him and shuffled out with a cheery wave, pink slippers slapping on the linoleum.
Adalia had given the bakery a fifties’ style look. She’d loved the idea of a parlor where customers could sit and have a milkshake while they ate their baked goods. So far, the idea hadn’t taken off.
The booths and chairs were empty. A pang of regret stabbed at her stomach, and she wiped down her flowered apron with a grimace.
“I’ll get those chocolate buns for you,” she said to the businessman, but the stare he gave her made her stop dead in her tracks. “What is it? You don’t want them anymore?”
“I do, but I’d prefer it if you had a few with me. Do you make coffee here?”
“We do,” she said, “but I’ve got way too much to do to take a break.”
“I wasn’t asking.”
“Look, I don’t even know your name. What makes you think you can come in here, flirt with me and make a fool out of me in front of my customers?” Adalia allowed anger to gutter through her and override the desperate need to reach out and spank that cute butt. “Now, if you want buns, I’ll give you buns, but I’m going to have to ask you to leave.”
“I assume you don’t normally treat your customers this way.” He glanced left and right, searching the empty storefront with mock intrigue.
“How I treat my customers is none of your business,” she snapped. He’d hit a nerve there. The bakery was her life, her dream and her future, and it was falling through her fingers so fast, she barely had time to jam them shut.
Sunlight filtered through the front window, highlighting the golden streaks in his hair.
Adalia turned her back on him and got the damn chocolate buns, then thrust them at him over the counter. He took out a leather wallet with a flourish and flipped it open, but she shook her finger at him.
“No,” she said, “these are free of charge.”
“That’s nice of you,” he said, his left eyebrow lifted, and she longed to smack him in it. Then kiss him. Kiss him all over.
“It’s free of charge because I don’t consider you a customer. Don’t come back here again. Understand?” She folded her arms and steadied her breathing.
The devilishly attractive businessman ran his thumb down his jaw, holding the brown bag aloft. “Sorry,” he said, without a smidgen of the remorse he professed, “but I’m not in the habit of making promises I can’t keep.”
“Get out,” she hissed at him.
He strolled to the door with a low chuckle and pulled it open with a tinkle of the bell. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Adalia.”
“How did you know my –?”
But he didn’t let her finish, cutting across her with one word. It cut her to ribbons, zigzagged through the air between them on vibrations of smoldering need.
“Trent.”
Then he was gone.
Chapter Two
Adalia slammed the door of the fridge so hard, a few of the cute kitty magnets fell off and scattered across the tiles.
“Damn,” she whispered, then placed the bottle of wine on the kitchen counter and bent to collect the kittens. She rearranged them haphazardly and grimaced at the bill she’d stuck up on the beige surface of the refrigerator.
The bakery wasn’t in the clear, and the bank wanted the money back. Now. There were too few customers, or too many expenses, and it ate at her that she couldn’t make it work.
“No. I will make this work. I will.” She grabbed the wine bottle, popped the cork and sloshed some of the deep red fluid into a glass. Failure wasn’t an option... it wasn’t in her vocabulary.
She’d grown up too poor and worked too hard to let that happen.
Adalia strolled through to her living room and lowered herself to the couch with a sigh. She’d not bothered to take off her apron, and she’d been home a half hour. There was just too much to do.
Her laptop was laid out on her wooden coffee table, open and glaring at her, coaxing her to swap over from the spreadsheet to an episode of Game of Thrones.
There wasn’t a TV in the apartment, but she preferred it that way. Anything she really wanted to watch was on Netflix and she was too busy for shows most nights anyway, but after the weird encounter with the mysterious Trent, all she wanted was a glass of wine, some leftover pizza and a couple of dragons.
An email notification sounded on the laptop, and she leaned forward with a frown.
It was from a woman named Michelle Van Heerden.
Attn: Adalia,
We would like to hire you to cater an event. Please respond with contact details so we may discuss this over the phone.
Regards,
Ms. Van Heerden
Adalia took a sip of wine and rattled off a quick response with her phone number. This was good news – she couldn’t help allowing the hope to burgeon in her chest.
Riiiing.
She jumped and swept up her cell, then pressed the green button without checking who the call was from.
“Adalia speaking,” she said, injecting confidence into her voice, which was part alcohol inspired and part innate.
“Hey, girl,” a deep gravelly voice said, and the hair on the back of her neck stood on end.
Great. Just what she needed on a lonely Monday night: not a potential client, but her lowlife ex-boyfriend.
“DeShawn, I told you not to call me.”
“I can’t not call you, babe. I miss you too bad.” An explosion of raucous laughter drowned out another sentence, but it wasn’t a loss to her ears.
“You’re high again,” Adalia stated, resolved to the answers and the lies he’d tell to get out of the telling the truth.
“No, course not, baby. You told me to stop, so I did, right?” he said it in a mild slur and she rolled her eyes.
“And you’ve been drinking as well. You need to get that drunk dial app on your phone, DeShawn.” She couldn’t help cracking jokes, though he probably wouldn’t get that he was the butt of it.
“What that?”
“Never mind. I’m going to blacklist your number, so don’t try calling again.” She pressed the red button with relish and slapped the phone down on the table. How had she ever dated him?
The constant lack of ambition, sitting at home all day and smoking pot while she was out busting her balls for them. Earning as much as she could to fund his boozing and smoking.
It made her livid. Not because he’d wasted his life away or her time for that matter, but because she’d allowed that in her life.
She was a strong woman. Her mother had been a strong woman. Why had she let him walk all over her?
She grabbed at her stomach and frowned. Maybe it was because of self-esteem. Well, she couldn’t be anyone other than who she was.
She certainly deserved better than DeShawn.
Adalia took another gulp of wine, then shook her head to clear her thoughts.
Riiiiing.
She gave a low growl and snatched the phone off the coffee table again, shifting the lifestyle and cookery magazines to the right. She set the glass on the table to better handle the call.
DeShawn just didn’t know when enough was enough.
“I told you, I’m going to blacklist your damn number, so do not call me back!” Adalia hovered her finger of the red button to hang up.
“Is that Adalia?” a snooty woman asked, and Adalia’s heart leapt into her throat. She flashed to the email she received earlier. It was most likely the potential client.
Embarrassment heated her cheeks, and she fanned herself with one hand. “That’s correct.”
“Is this a bad time, Ms. Montclair?” The woman’s cool answer cut at her sense of professionalism.
“Not at all, I’ve just been receiving continuous calls from telemarketers and I’ve grown quite fed up. I’m sure you can understand.” Adalia was quick on her feet at least.
“Of course,” the woman answered without changing her tone. “I emailed you about catering for an event. My name is Michelle Van Heerden.”
“Yes, thank you, Ms. Van Heerden. May I ask what you require for the event?” She stood and hurried to the kitchen, her stockings slipping her up a little, then snatched up a pen and paper.
“We’ve got the menu set for the event, but we’re lacking a good idea for dessert.”
“That’s definitely my forte,” Adalia answered, though she frowned. How had this woman found her? She wasn’t exactly in the papers, and she seriously doubted that Ms. Van Heerden, in all her snobby glory, would deign to leaf through the yellow pages.
“I have it on good authority that your chocolate éclairs are sublime,” Van Heerden droned on, seemingly bored by her own conversation. “So, we’d like you to cater for two hundred guests.”
“Two hundred,” Adalia answered, scribbling the number down and keeping the stammer of awe out of her voice. That was two éclairs per guest, and four hundred in total. “When’s the event?”
Van Heerden cleared her throat. “In three days.”
Good God. Adalia gripped the pen until it made a crack of protest. She needed the money, but she’d have to work night and day to make that deadline. That was a lot of choux pastry.
“Can you do it, Ms. Montclair?”
Adalia clicked her tongue softly, considering, need and fear mingling inside. “Absolutely, where’s the event being held?”
“The NYIT Auditorium on Broadway. This is a charity event and exceptionally important. We expect prompt delivery and service from you, Ms. Montclair.”
“Of course. I’ll be there, you can count on it,” Adalia answered with total confidence.
The line went dead, and Adalia placed her phone in her bag, which lay open on the kitchen counter. Ms. Van Heerden was upper echelon indeed, if she couldn’t spare a minute to say ‘thank you’ or ‘goodbye’.
Adalia breathed slowly, staring at the clock on the wall, ticking away. Three days wasn’t enough time, but hell, she’d make it work.
She pulled on her shoes, adjusted that apron and slung her bag over her shoulder, then shot a text message off to her assistant patisserie to meet her at the bakery.
Adalia set her gaze on the bill plastered to her fridge and gave a curt nod. This was her chance to make it work, to pay off some of the debt and get the business going.
She left the bottle of wine on the coffee table.
Chapter Three
“I’m relieved you made it, Ms. Montclair,” Michelle Van Heerden said, teetering beside Adalia in five-inch high heels and a form-fitting black cocktail dress.
She was white, blonde and skinny as all hell. Bit of a hooked nose, though it didn’t take away from her beauty. What did take away from it, however, was that constant glare of disdain.
“Me?” Adalia placed a hand on the crisp chef’s whites she’d purchased specifically for this job. “I wouldn’t have missed your event for the world, Ms. Van Heerden.” She clicked her fingers and her assistant bustled in – also in brand spanking new chef’s whites – carting tray upon tray of ingredients.
All they’d have to do is melt the chocolate and assemble the éclairs and they’d be ready to send plates out. Underneath her calm exterior, Adalia was exhausted to the bone. She’d gotten a maximum two hours sleep a night, and that was usually in the kitchen of the bakery.
“The client, my boss, has very specific instructions for this meal,” Van Heerden droned on, checking the red lacquer on her claw-like nails. “He wants the entire meal done by eight this evening and not a second later. You may begin serving the éclairs at quarter to eight. After the final dish has been served, you may enter the hall to receive thanks along with the other chefs.”
“That’s unusual.” It slipped out before Adalia could catch it. Usually the chefs or caterers were behind-the-scenes personnel, certainly not granted an appearance at the end of a charity event.
“Yes, Mr. Dawson was clear on this point,” Van Heerden said and rolled her eyes, then blinked a few times. It was clear she didn’t hold with such sentimentality. “He’s sponsored this entire event, a charity for inner city kids, and he wants people inspired to give back and be grateful. Time for work?” The woman pointed in the opposite direction.
Adalia wriggled her nose and strolled to her place beside one of the gas-burning stoves.
“She’s nice,” Jenny said, standing closer and pointing a thumb in Van Heerden’s direction and smirking. “In the way that pubic lice is nice, if you know what I mean.” The pastry chef had been with her for a while, but she was too talented, and Adalia was pretty nervous she’d disappear soon.
“Yeah, well money is money.” She unclipped the lid of the plastic container they’d brought for the chocolate. “We’ll do our job, get our pay and get the hell out of here.”
“Maybe you’ll pick up some more clients out there, who knows?” Jenny patted her on the arm and helped her take out slab upon slab of the chocolate. She was positive about the future of the bakery, but then she didn’t know just how much financial trouble it was in.
“Yeah, maybe,” Adalia said with a noncommittal shrug.
“Fancy meeting you here,” a voice said behind them and they both flinched and turned.
Adalia’s insides turned to mulch.
It was Trent.
Jenny gave a tiny gasp then colored bright red from the top of her forehead to the bit of skin poking out at the neck. She coughed, then mumbled something about chocolate and swept up a few slabs. The pastry chef hightailed it out of there without a second glance.
Adalia didn’t allow herself to be intimidated. Trent was in Prada this time – she had a keen sense for fashion, it was another calling – and he had that sweltering gaze in place.
“I don’t know who allowed you back here, but now is not the time for messing around.” Adalia leaned one palm on the counter and gave a long-suffering sigh.
“I never mess around, Adalia. You should know that by now.” He stayed where he was, leaving the tension between them rather than closing the distance. She longed to be closer, but she couldn’t allow that thought to consume her.
He was hot, that was all. It wasn’t as if they had any real connection, other than his love of teasing her.
She gathered up ingredients and went to join Jenny by the stove. “We’re going to need a bigger pot for this group. If we split it into three to five batches, we should be able to –”
“I’m not done talking to you.” Trent appeared beside them, and Jenny flinched again, then pushed her glasses up her nose.
“Yeah, but I am done talking to you and I have work to do.” Adalia studied him with a tiny frown of disapproval. “Something you clearly don’t know much about,” she muttered and it was as if she’d injected iron into his spine.
Every inch of his body turned stiff, and he stared at her with the strangest expression, a mix of anger and something deeper. Was it need?
No, it couldn’t be.
“You’d better run along before the guy in charge kicks you out. What are you doing here anyway?” She was too curious to let the question go unanswered.
Ms. Van Heerden burst into the kitchen, swaying that perfectly groomed head from side-to-side, searching.
Adalia steeled herself for a scolding – under any other circumstance, she wouldn’t take it, but this woman was a client.
“Mr. Dawson!”
Trent kept Adalia’s gaze, ignoring Michelle in the background. Van Heerden fixed her gaze on his back and bustled over to them.
“Mr. Dawson, they’re waiting for you out there.” She tapped him on the shoulder, but he didn’t turn to her.
“You’re Mr. Dawson,” Adalia said, her tone peppered with disbelief.
“I’m afraid so,” he answered, tucking his hands into his pockets and flexing beneath his suit. His muscles strained at the arms, but it wasn’t obscene. The suit accentuated him, resting lightly, tightening in the right places.
Michelle, for her part, was equally well-outfitted, especially with a slender waist to match the open back of that black dress.
And Adalia... she brushed off her chef’s whites and restrained a groan of mortification. Her mystery employer was none other than the man she’d been crushing on for a month.
“I see you’ve met our caterer. One of them, anyway,” Van Heerden said, then glanced over toward Adalia, searching for the others she’d hired. “The meal will be ready to start soon, and they’re calling for a speech out there, Mr. Dawson.”
“Do you have eyes, Michelle?” Trent finally broke his connection with Adalia and turned to his assistant. She pushed her chest outward and pouted slightly. Jealousy crept through Adalia’s mind, poking at her sense of calm.
“Sir?”
“Do you have eyes?”
Michelle fluttered her eyelids. “Why, of course, sir.”
“So you can see I’m in the middle of a conversation. That’s obvious to you?” Trent took his hands out of his pockets and checked his cufflinks.
Michelle’s face fell. “Yes, I can see that, sir.”
“Then kindly explain to me why you interrupted.”
Embarrassment followed close on the heels of the jealousy. Didn’t he realize that this was more uncomfortable for her than for them?
“I have to get back to work,” Adalia inserted, then made to walk off, but he caught her by the arm and immobilized her with those sparks of desire.
“Not so fast. I believe my assistant owes you an apology, first.” Trent gestured toward Michelle and Adalia met her gaze, hating every minute of the entire encounter.
Van Heerden focused on her, but there was no remorse in her, only a bone deep sense of hatred. “Sorry.”
Adalia gave a curt nod and broke the contact with both of them. She strode back to the stove – careful not to hurry – and took her place beside Jenny.
“What on earth was that about?” asked Jenny.
Adalia glanced back at Trent, but he’d already left for the main hall.
“I have no idea,” she said, stirring the melting chocolate.
Chapter Four
“And none of this would be possible without the stellar chefs and caterers who provided the meal for you this evening,” Trent said, standing in front of the crowd of two hundred people, still finishing off the remains of the chocolate éclairs.
Adalia stood with her arms at her sides, back straight and staring straight ahead. If she played this right, she might get more clients. If she didn’t, she’d likely lose the bakery.
Either way, it was pretty darn difficult to concentrate with Trent a few feet from her. That cologne was in the air, enticing her with the promise of dreams that night.
“I believe that children should have access to three basic needs,” Trent went on, confidence oozing from his every pore. He held up one finger and continued, “The need for food.”
Audience members nodded as if this was a breaking news special.
Trent’s middle finger came up to join his index. “The need for shelter.”
More nods of approval and low murmurs.
The ring finger appeared alongside the other two, and Adalia pressed her lips together, intrigued in spite of her skepticism. “The need for education.”
“With these three basic needs met, a child, no matter what his or her upbringing or background, has a fighting chance to succeed in life.” He turned to the side and pointed to a screen on the wall behind them. “Which is why we’ve decided to use your funds to build the Inner City Eat, Live and Learn Shelter for all kids, eighteen and under.”
An image of the proposed shelter appeared, and Adalia restrained a gasp. Trent Dawson had a lot of time, money or power – maybe all three – if he could help fund something like this.
It was brick-faced, but with grand entrances, a pool, sports center, basketball courts, dance studio and classrooms.
Trent continued his speech, picking up a laser pointer to indicate the facilities. “Here, the children will have room to board, a safe house if they have no other home or things at their homes aren’t what they should be.”
He moved the beam along the image and pointed toward the section of classrooms. “They’ll be tutored in various topics, including science, math, technology and literature. Everything a private school would offer.”
Trent paused and glanced toward Adalia, then moved the laser back to the center of the building. “And here, the children will learn how to cook and bake, giving them the opportunity to follow a culinary career path should they see fit.”
Her heart melted in her chest, and her knees shook a little, but she kept herself upright. This kind of thing brought tears to her eyes. She’d been one of those kids. Luckily, she’d had a father who’d worked every day to keep her in school. He’d taught her the lessons of hard work, hard knocks and following your dreams.
“Thanks to your generous donations, we can now make this dream a reality and give hope to children across the city.” Trent Dawson finished without bells or whistles. He simply switched the pointer off and placed it on the podium beside him. It didn’t roll off onto the plush red carpet.
The audience applauded, rising to their feet, and Trent nodded and waved, but didn’t make a big show of himself. He simply gestured to the band, which struck up a chord and the music began.
There was a shrill squeal of delight in the crowd, followed by several gasps. Lana Del Ray, the famous singer, was on the stage, swaying from side-to-side. She sang Ultraviolence, and Adalia’s eyes widened. It was one of her favorites.
“Thank you for coming today,” Trent said, closing in on her with the future in his gaze. He had her attention now, and he could see it. She couldn’t help be taken in by his goals, his choice in music and that heady scent.
It made her feel weak, and she was anything but that.
“Thank you for inviting me.” There was no other reply to this.
“Hopefully this brings in a couple customers to that bakery of yours.”
“Is that why? I thought it was because you wanted to show off your inner city dream.” Adalia couldn’t help the hostility. She needed him to know she wasn’t easy, she wasn’t some blonde assistant bimbo who’d cave to his every need.
I love you the first time
I love you the last time
Yo soy la princesa, comprenda mis white lines
Cos I’m your jazz singer
And you’re my cult leader
Lana Del Rey’s dulcet tones filled the blanks in their conversation, giving meaning to what Adalia felt. Or what she thought she felt. How was it possible to be this attracted to a man from another world, from another time, from a place she couldn’t follow? Not because she wasn’t good enough, but because he wouldn’t want her to.
She was not a follower.
Trent moved toward her and held out a hand. “Dance with me.”
“What’s the magic word?” Adalia folded her arms.
“I wasn’t asking.”
“That’s your catchphrase.”
He grabbed her and pulled her in close to whisper in her ear. “Have I caught you?”
“Mr. Dawson,” Michelle Van Heerden called over the heads of the crowd. They swayed and danced in time to the music, and the song changed. “Trent,” she said again, but he didn’t pull away from Adalia.
Instead, he lowered his lips to her neck and breathed on her skin, tracing a line from her collar bone up to her ear. “Have I caught you?”
Adalia had disappeared, replaced by a woman she barely knew, one who wanted nothing more than to feel Trent’s embrace, his hands on her body. Michelle was near now, clacking across the floor in her stilettos until she reached the carpeted area they stood on.
“Have I caught you?” he asked a third time.
“No,” Adalia replied, every nerve screamed at her, begging for his touch. “You can’t catch the wind.” She detached from him, breaking the connection she’d believed impossible.
She didn’t know anything more than his name, and the fact that he was arrogant, but it was as if she’d been with him before. Known his touch, seen forever in those bright blue eyes.
“Trent,” Michelle sighed, sidling up to them with assurance. “Everyone is dying to talk to you about the project. They’re overwhelmed by the thought of it.”
“Overwhelmed is hardly the correct term,” he replied, irritation snipping the words off.
Adalia backed off slowly. She didn’t need another embarrassing encounter with the chic Ms. Van Heerden and her boss.
Michelle nodded. “I suppose you’re right.” Then she slipped her arm through his and gripped his bicep. “Though, I must say the entire event went off without a hitch.” She prattled on and Trent didn’t pay attention to her.
“It’s thanks to the chefs and caterers, like Adalia,” he replied, smiling.
“Oh, yes, of course. But the planning, the time and effort you put in? That’s priceless. It was an honor working with you on this one. Congratulations, sir,” she murmured, shooting a triumphant glance at Adalia. She craned her neck upward and kissed him on the cheek, near that flawless jawline covered in stubble.
That jealousy from earlier came back, amplified tenfold. This was bad. This was too much to handle after DeShawn. She’d been right about Trent. He was obviously a player and involved with Van Heerden.
Trent frowned and moved away from Michelle, but it was too late.
“Adalia, come back here.” It was a blatant command, and she blatantly ignored it. Adalia Montclair was not a pushover. She tucked the anger and hurt into her core.
“Thank you for the opportunity, Mr. Dawson.” Adalia called back as she gave a formal nod, then turned and strolled back to the kitchens.
Chapter Five
“I’m sorry,” Jenny whispered.
“I understand. I saw it coming a mile off. It’s not your fault, I know you deserve way better than this.” Adalia gave a weak smile.
Jenny burst into tears and wiped them away with the back of her hand. Adalia reached into her desk drawer and brought out a box of tissues. She offered them to her pastry chef – ex-pastry chef, now – and Jenny swept one up and used it to blow her nose.
“We built this place together.” Jenny sniffled and dabbed at her eyes, shaking her head. “I can’t believe I’m not going to work here anymore... it feels like I’m leaving home.”
Adalia gave a heavy sigh, and rose from her chair. She circled the small desk and flung her arms around Jenny. “Everybody leaves home at some point. I guess it’s fitting that you set yourself free. You’ll fly high, Jenny. You’re one of the best pastry chefs in the city. It sucks to lose you because of this, but I know there’s nothing I can do.”
“I could stay,” Jenny said, stiffening because of her stubborn streak, going back on the words she’d just spoken.
“I can’t afford to pay you what you deserve,” Adalia answered. “Hell, I can’t even afford to pay you what a dishwasher deserves. It’s a shitty situation, and I can’t make it better this way.”
Jenny sobbed, and Adalia patted her on the back then let go.
“But you can bet I’ll be banging down your door the minute I can afford to have you onboard again,” she said with a smile. Like that would ever happen. She hadn’t seen an increase in customers or requests since the charity event at all. The money had just about run out.
“I’ll be waiting for that call.” Jenny reached out and grasped Adalia’s hands in hers. “Thank you for making me feel like part of your family.”
“Oh honey, you are a part of the family.” Adalia welled up, the emotion finally breaking her tough exterior. She wanted to ignore the pain and move past it, but she couldn’t. Losing Jenny was like losing a sister, and it was proof that her lifelong dream was falling away before her very eyes.
“I’d better get going. Mark is finally moving to the big city!” That was Jenny’s fiancée. He’d been in Chicago for a year, making extra cash on the side so he’d be able to afford the wedding.
“That’s wonderful. I’m so happy for you,” Adalia said, but she was tormented inside. It was a feeling she despised: knowing that she desperately craved love and affection she’d never get.
“It will happen,” Jenny whispered, then pecked her on the cheek and disappeared out of the office and probably out of Adalia’s life for good.
She went back to her chair and plopped into it, groaning when she hit the hardwood back with force. She couldn’t even afford proper office furniture. Too many expenses, too little time to make the money to pay them off.
Adalia pulled out the newest letter from the bank and looked it over. She still owed twenty-thousand dollars on the loan, and they’d grown impatient with her dawdling. She could hardly break even, let alone pay off a debt of that size.
Riiiiing.
Her heart leapt into her throat, but she calmed herself immediately. No way would that be Trent – why had he even popped into her mind? It was ridiculous.
“Hello?”
“Is this Adalia Montclair speaking?” a man wheezed into the phone, and she frowned. It definitely wasn’t Trent. Or DeShawn for that matter, thank God.
“Yes, this is she.” She pushed the letter to the side and took out a pen and piece of paper. This guy sounded important, and she crossed her fingers. Hopefully he was an audience member from the charity event a week or so ago.
“Ms. Montclair, I’m calling from the bank about your loan repayments.”
It was the bank calling in the debt. Not a new client, not a hopeful encounter to help her speed the process of achieving her dream.
“And to whom am I speaking?” Adalia switched to formal mode, and shut down on her fear and all other emotion. When these guys smelled blood in the water, they laid in with twenty sets of teeth. Shark wasn’t the word. What was that creature from Pirates of the Caribbean?
The Kraken.
They were a bunch of damn Krakens.
“You are speaking with Mr. Samuels from the bank, ma’am.”
“Thank you,” she said and scribbled the name down. “What can I help you with?” As if she didn’t know already.
“We’d like to talk to you about your loan repayments in person, but you’ve missed your last two meetings.”
“Meetings? I haven’t received any correspondence about meetings with you people.” It was the absolute truth.
“Regardless, the bank has tried to contact you on multiple occasions to set up a viable repayment plan, but you seem to have avoided each attempt. It is now the bank’s intention to liquidate your assets, should you be unable to pay the amount in full, by June 15th.”
“That’s a month from now!” Adalia screeched. Outrage and shock mingled in equal parts and spread through the cells of her body.
“That’s the final date for payment. After that, the bank will repossess your assets in order to repay your debt.” The man coughed and yawned, and Adalia clenched the pen hard. It snapped clean in half, splattering ink across the paper and the desk.
“How do you expect me to come up with twenty grand in a month?” Adalia asked through gritted teeth, but Mr. Samuels seemed entirely unconcerned by her distress.
“That is entirely up to you, Ms. Montclair.”
“Now, you listen –”
Bang!
The office door swung open and DeShawn strolled in, scratching under the line of his do-rag.
“Hey, girl,” he said, grinning. He folded his arms and studied her, muscles bulging beneath the wife beater.
“Get out,” she shouted then lowered her voice. “Mr. Samuels, you can’t be serious about this. I need more time than a month. Please, have some sympathy.”
But the staid, old banker had already hung up and the dial tone rang in Adalia’s ear. She dropped the phone to the desk and let out a low growl of anger.
“What the hell are you doing here?” She pushed up from the desk and glared at her ex-boyfriend.
“You won’t answer my calls. I had to find out if you was okay.”
“I’m fine, and I don’t need your concern, DeShawn.” She motioned for him to leave, but he swaggered around to her side of the desk and grabbed her around the waist.
He pulled her into him, and she slapped him hard across the cheek.
“Don’t you dare touch me,” she said.
He dropped his arms, the corners of his lips pulled taut. “What we got is special. You can’t deny that.”
“What we have? We have nothing. All we have are broken bongs and shattered memories. You understand me?” Adalia slapped him again, across the other cheek this time just to even things out.
She was too angry to care she’d hurt him, too upset over losing the bakery. Her dream was as good as gone, and there was no one to blame but herself.
“Why you hitting me? You know better than that.” He grabbed her by the face and squished her cheeks.
Adalia’s heart was overcome with sorrow. She’d given DeShawn everything, loved him though he’d returned nothing but empty hopes and bullshit. And now he dared harm her? He dared lay hands on her?
She lifted her knee and rammed it into his crotch. He doubled over with a cry of pain and she burst into tears, picked up her bag and walked out of the office.
The bill lay on the desk, staring at the ceiling, the zeroes were like eyes of greed.
Chapter Six
Adalia kneaded the dough, taking out the frustration of the day on the emulsion of flour, water, salt and yeast.
Between the bank and DeShawn’s interference, there wasn’t much room for calm. Her mind swirled with questions about her future. If she lost the bakery, she’d have nowhere to live. She’d be forced back to her father’s place, because there was no way in hell she’d get drawn into DeShawn’s web of laziness and lies again.
She paused and wiped her brow with her forearm, then sighed.
There had to be some way for her to make this money back.
The bell over the door in the shop tinkled.
“We’re closed!” she called out, frowning to herself. That’d better not be DeShawn. Besides, it was past five already and she’d hung the ‘CLOSED’ sign in the shop window.
“Hello?” Adalia called, brushing the flour from her hands and onto her apron. “Who’s there?”
A trickle of fear worked its way into her mind – this was New York, after all – but she diverted it with thoughts of calm.
She covered the dough with a damp cloth, then tiptoed over to the sink and picked up a chopping knife from beside the sink. She gripped it tight, and the cool steel against her palm gave her shivers.
Adalia waited. Footsteps approached, heavier than a woman’s. It definitely was a man, but he didn’t have DeShawn’s loping gait; that she could recognize within seconds.
“You’d better have a good reason for coming here,” she said out loud, using her hardest tone possible, but it still quavered in the middle.
“I always have a reason for everything I do,” Trent said, strolling in with that easy confidence he wore around his shoulders like a cape. Did that mean he was a superhero?
She restrained a grimace at the cheesiest thought she’d ever had.
“What are you doing back here?” She laid the knife back on the counter and folded her arms. “This area is off limits to customers.”
“I’m not just a customer,” he said, walking over to meet her. She didn’t move away from him, she couldn’t bring herself to back off. There was too much tension between them, too much need.
Still, he had that bimbo, that blonde Van Heerden with her perfect body.
“I’ve been thinking about you,” he said, and reached up to brush her cheek with the tips of his fingers. “Constantly. You live in my brain, Adalia.”
“What do you want?” she whispered, not daring to meet his gaze. She focused on the silver clock on the wall, its hands ticking away. Life flowing in and out, the ebb of her emotion swelling beyond her perception.
There was no control for this. How could she resist him?
“Look at me,” he murmured, gruff with desire. “Look into my eyes.”
“No.” She trembled for him, but she couldn’t permit this weakness. Looking into his eyes would be like looking into his soul. It would be over.
He ran those fingers down her cheek and rested them on her chin. He didn’t grip it or force her, but the pressure of his intent was enough.
Adalia swayed her head to the side and was met by those ice blue pools of spirit. They brimmed with emotion, the kind women dreamed of, and she drew in a breath.
“Look what you’ve done to me.” Trent didn’t break away from the moment, but slid his other hand around her back and brought it up to rest at the nape of her neck, controlling her.
“I don’t –”
“You’ve consumed my every thought, and I barely know you.”
It was an echo of her thoughts, and she wanted to collapse from hearing them out loud.
“We owe this to ourselves,” he groaned, and layered kisses along her neck and throat. They were hot and wet, soft as she’d ever felt and hot desire rushed through her.
“Stop,” she moaned, shaking for him, shaking for more, to have it all, but she couldn’t give in to this. He had someone else; he was a player; he didn’t really want anything more than a conquest and she wasn’t that!
She refused to be that for him.
“Adalia,” he mumbled and she turned to jelly. Her knees buckled, but he caught her in those strong arms and held her upright, pressed against his broad chest. Trent kissed the sides of her neck this time, opening his mouth wider, increasing the pressure and nipping her skin in places.
“Oh God,” she groaned, throwing her head back and embracing the moment. This one pure moment of pleasure.
Trent stopped and brought his face toward her, to take their first real kiss.
“No,” she stammered. “Not like this, no.” Adalia placed both palms on his chest and pushed herself away. He held her fast for a second, but released her with an expression of regret.
“What’s the matter?” Trent’s brow wrinkled like a flopped soufflé.
“I won’t be another one of your bimbos, Mr. Dawson.” She walked away from him, swaying her hips, and stood beside the dough, which would be ruined if she didn’t place it in a warmer environment to let it rise.
“You seem to have a lot of knowledge about my personal life that I’m not aware of.”
“Oh come on,” she said, slapping her thighs to warm her hands. “I’m not stupid, Trent. I know what’s really going on here. You’re looking for a conquest, a little fun on the side. Why else would you have invited me to that event? It was a blatant attempt to show off.”
Trent laughed out loud. “You know me so well already, and you seem to have a rather high opinion of yourself if you think you’re my conquest.”
She glared at him then hid her shame by uncovering the dough and prodding it. It was ruined, and she scooped it off the table and threw it in the bin without further ado.
He was wrong. She didn’t have a high opinion of herself. It was quite the opposite, in fact. She’d been beaten down by herself and by DeShawn’s lack of attention during their two-year relationship.
The man had seen her as a plaything, not a woman to be respected, just to be used for his own desires.
“You can’t figure it out,” he observed, folding those muscled arms beneath his white cotton shirt. It was unbuttoned at the neck, open and hinting at the tanned flesh below.
“Please get out of my kitchen,” she responded.
Trent walked to the work bench and planted his fists on it, then leaned right over until he was in her face and there was nowhere else to look.
“Let me get real with you for a minute, girl. I want you. I want you and I plan on having you, but not just in the way you think.”
She gulped then blinked several times. The way he’d said it was both arousing and terrifying. What did he actually mean with that? Did he want her for sex? Or did he want to be with her in another way?
He studied her reaction then gave a grunt of approval, which made his Adam’s apple bob up and down.
“Yeah, that’s right. And guess what, Adalia?” Trent didn’t move an inch forward or back, but held that same intensity. The steady stare intoxicated her.
“What?” she replied, trying to inject her usual attitude into the question, but failing miserably. There was no way she’d win this one. Though, she didn’t want to at this point.
“I always get what I want.”
He turned on his heel and marched out of the kitchen without a glance backward.
Chapter Seven
“So you don’t know what to do about it?” Sylvester Montclair cut an imposing figure for a man of his age. Late sixties, with a head of neatly cropped gray hair and the beginnings of a bald spot at his crown, he exuded integrity.
“I don’t have that many options at the moment.” One kept springing to mind, but it was an option Adalia would never take.
She didn’t want handouts, and she certainly wouldn’t turn to the billionaire who saw her as a conquest, or whatever else he wanted to call it.
“My girl, you’ve got to do what’s best for your future.”
“That’s what I’m trying to do, Dad, but I don’t know how. I’m lost. The bank wants the money back, I’ve got no one working for me, and the customers just aren’t coming in.”
“What about your regulars?” Her father scratched his chin, then handed her a bowl of mashed potatoes. She dished up for herself and passed him the green beans in return.
“I’ve got two and that’s about it.”
Sunday night dinners were their tradition. They connected over deep fried Cajun chicken or roast beef, and ended with apple pie and cream. The cooking part was the best. Adalia would arrive early and help her father prep and cook everything.
The apple pie was definitely her favorite part of the endeavor, but she’d hardly enjoyed making it that afternoon.
There was too much to worry about.
“Adalia, we aren’t a family of quitters. Your brother has fallen on hard times before and we supported him through it. Do whatever it is you need to do to make it work.”
She nodded thoughtfully and popped a forkful of mashed potatoes and gravy into her mouth. It was delicious and she chewed slowly, considering her options.
“I guess the real problem is –”
There was a knock at the front door, followed by a strange whooping noise.
“What the hell?” Sylvester Montclair rose with a frown. He was the papa bear, protective to a fault, and he’d been there for the kids no matter what.
“Adalia!” DeShawn’s voice rang out through the front hall, and her heart sank into her stomach. “Adalia, are you in there? Come on out, babe, we gotta talk about this. I don’t want to hear no excuses, this is fo’ real.”
“You’ve got to be kidding me.” She stood quickly but her father waved for her to stay put.
“I’ll handle this, don’t you worry.” He stretched his neck and strode out of the dining room and into the hall.
Adalia crept after him and stood in the doorway, eavesdropping on the conversation. She peered around the corner, careful not to be seen by her ex-boyfriend.
Sylvester opened the door and placed his hand on the doorjamb, blocking DeShawn’s entry with his arm.
DeShawn glared at Sylvester through a haze of pot and reddened eyes.
“What up, old man.”
Sylvester clenched his jaw and released. He’d never liked DeShawn, and Adalia sorely regretted not listening to her father’s advice sooner. “That’s Mr. Montclair to you, boy. What do you want?”
“I’m looking for Adalia. I know she always at your house on a Sunday, man.” DeShawn craned his neck and tried to see past her father.
Sylvester clicked his fingers under the stoner’s nose. “You deaf as well as drugged, boy? Adalia ain’t here. Now, get off my front porch before I call the cops.”
“You think you better than me?” DeShawn guffawed. “You just some old dude who can’t even make no money.”
Sylvester was a plumber. He’d finally set up his own business and made just enough money to support himself. They’d grown up poor but there’d always been food on the table.
“Think long and hard about what you say next, DeShawn,” he said, and the warning tone he used when he was seconds from getting serious set off alarms in Adalia’s head.
“Man, back outta my way,” DeShawn answered, and gripped a handful of the old man’s shirt.
Sylvester calmly balled up his fist and punched DeShawn in the center of his chest, causing the unwelcome visitor to stumble back and land on his ass. He glared up, swaying slightly from side-to-side, and choked.
“Get out of here, punk.” Sylvester slammed the door shut and locked it, then returned to the dining room.
“What if he doesn’t leave?” Adalia murmured, taking her seat again, but her father seemed totally unfazed by the entire encounter.
“He will. He’s a coward, my girl. He’ll take on an old man because he thinks he has a chance, but you can bet he won’t want to mix it up with the cops.”
Adalia left her plate untouched and stared dead ahead. “Dad, it’s like everything is conspiring against me right now. Wherever I turn, somebody’s there to make things more difficult.”
Sylvester folded his hands on the table then smoothed the white cloth she’d laid on it earlier in the afternoon. “Nobody has time for a victim. Stop feeling sorry for yourself and get on with it. Figure out what you have to do to make it work. What are you going to do? Curl up in a ball and die?”
