Another Woman's Man (10 page)

Damn it,
she thought. Why was he making such a big deal about this? She could probably make it off the ice herself. She didn't need his help.

“We walk together or I carry you,” he said, sounding firm. “Those are your options.”

Dawn sucked her teeth and crossed her arms over her chest. “Fine,” she mumbled.

Seconds later, he had his arm wrapped around her waist and her arm was loosely draped around his shoulder as he guided her from the ice to one of the small openings that led to the seating area. Dawn saw that he was steering her toward the condiment stand. She could smell the popcorn and corn dogs even from here.

Though having him this close made her uncomfortable, Dawn took some pleasure in seeing the look on Nikki's face as the teenager watched her and Xavier together. The young woman looked mad enough that lasers would shoot out of her eyes.

Your fault,
Dawn thought.

Let that be a lesson to Nikki on the proper way to take out a rival when competing for a man.

Xavier guided Dawn to yet another scuffed bench and urged her to sit down. “Let me see your ankle.”

“So you're a lawyer
and
you have an M.D., Dr. Hughes?” Dawn asked as she slowly untied her shoelaces. “You're going to give me your diagnosis?”

“All the sarcasm in the world isn't going to keep me from looking at that ankle.” He sat down beside her. “I used to play sports in high school and college. I've sprained my ankle enough times to know what it looks like. I don't
need
an M.D.”

She removed her left skate and extended her foot toward him. He took off his gloves and—to her astonishment—quickly removed the sock she was wearing too and tossed it aside. He raised her leg and placed her foot on his knee. He shoved up the damp pants leg of her boot-cut jeans and exposed her calf. He began to gently touch her foot, ankle, and the lower half of her leg, examining them all.

If Dawn thought her ankle was throbbing, it was nothing compared to the throbbing that was starting to bud between her legs as his warm hands skimmed over her bare flesh. She had always been a sucker for foot massages. Damn, this was starting to get distracting!

He furrowed his dark brows as he worked, completely oblivious to the lustful thoughts that were floating through her head. “Your ankle
is
a little swollen. Does it hurt when I do this?” He increased the pressure of his touch, making Dawn wince again.

“Yes . . . unfortunately.”

“OK, I know what to do.” He stood up and delicately placed her foot on the bench. “I'll be back in a sec.”

Now where is he going?
She watched in exasperation as he walked toward the concession stand. Yeah, she could use a hot dog, but she didn't know how that was supposed to help her ankle.

He returned a few minutes later with a plastic bag filled with ice and a cup of hot chocolate. He handed both to her.

“The ice is to keep down the swelling,” he said, smiling, “and the hot chocolate is my apology for getting you out here.”

She laughed and shook her head, taking both the cup and bag from him. “You don't have to apologize, but thanks.”

She began to ice her ankle and sip the hot chocolate. It wasn't one of her favorite gourmet lattes, but it was good enough.

“I'm having a party in a couple of weeks at my place,” he suddenly blurted out.

She lowered her cup from her lips and raised her eyebrows in surprise.

“It's a small dinner party . . . in honor of my birthday. Constance will be there, of course, and so will Herb and Raquel. I wondered if . . .” He paused. “I wondered if maybe you'd like to come too.”

Dawn stared at him, dumbfounded.
An invitation to his birthday party?
This definitely wasn't something she expected. Her stunned silence must have unnerved him because his grin quickly disappeared.

“I mean, you don't have to feel obligated to come,” he suddenly rushed out. “I just wanted to—”

“No, I'd like to. I'd
love
to. Just . . . just tell me what time and give me the address.”

The two gazed at one another and fell into silence again. She broke their mutual gaze and glanced back at the rink. “So I guess you're going back out there now that you've done your med work?”

“Yeah, I should,” he said, though he still lingered.

“I'm OK, really, Xavier. You don't have to stay. I've got my ice. I've got my hot chocolate.” She held up the paper cup. “My ankle is already starting to feel a little better. Go ahead. I'm fine.”

“I saw what you did with Tanisha,” he said quietly. “That was really nice of you.”

Dawn shrugged and drank again. “No big deal. I wanted her to enjoy herself. She seems like a nice kid. She shouldn't be huddled in a corner all day.”

“But you didn't have to and you did it anyway.” He shook his head. “Every time I think I've figured you out . . .” His voice drifted off.

“Why are you trying to figure me out?” She frowned. “This isn't about me trying to take advantage of my father again, is it? Look, I told you that—”

“No . . . no, it's just . . .” He paused. “You're a complex woman, Dawn Gibbons.”

Dawn was caught off guard again by his words. “I never claimed not to be.”

He nodded and gave her one last lingering look before walking off.

Dawn watched him as he made his way back to the ice.

I'm not the only complex one, Xavier,
she thought.

“Y
ou have someone waiting for you,” Ramona said as Xavier walked through the office doorway.

His greeting instantly died on his lips and he stopped midstride. He had just come into the office for the day, and as far as he knew, he had no meetings scheduled first thing that morning.

“I do?”

His secretary slowly nodded, giving him a look that spoke volumes, and pointed over his shoulder to the far-off corner. When he turned and saw who was sitting there, he almost gaped in shock.

“Good morning, Mr. Hughes,” said the balding white man in the dour-looking black suit. He wore wire-framed glasses that he absently pushed up the bridge of his nose. Beside him sat an attractive black woman in a red dress.

Xavier knew instantly who this woman and her companion were—the infamous Monique Spencer and her lawyer, Marvin Finklestein.

The last meeting Xavier had with them had ended disastrously with Spencer storming out of the conference room and Finklestein apologizing before grabbing his briefcase and running after her. Xavier had made it clear to them both that a two-million-dollar settlement for her sexual harassment claim was out of the question. He also stated that Allen Enterprises wanted some proof beyond mere verbal allegations that Spencer had actually experienced sexual harassment while she was employed at the company. They would need that before they even would consider giving her a dime.

Xavier watched as Spencer and Finklestein stood. The bulge at the woman's waist was noticeable. Though her sexual harassment charge was still questionable, it looked like at least her pregnancy claim wasn't fictitious.

“To what do I owe this surprise?” Xavier said, extending his hand.

Finklestein instantly shook it, while Spencer kept her hands clasped in front of her and her lips pursed.

“I've had a chance to talk to my client, Mr. Hughes, and we are willing to present the proof that you asked for,” Finklestein said, holding up a manila envelope.

Xavier's eyes widened. His workday was certainly starting off with a bang.

“All right.” He turned toward Ramona. “Ramona, would you hold all my calls and let Pierce know I may be a little late for that ten a.m. meeting we have scheduled?”

Ramona nodded and began to dial Pierce's extension.

“Miss Spencer, Mr. Finklestein, please step into my office,” he said, gesturing toward the other open door.

Finklestein walked first, striding confidently through the doorway. Spencer seemed to hesitate. She took a few steps, then stopped and gazed up at Xavier.

“I didn't want to do this,” she whispered fiercely through clenched teeth. “He left me with no choice.”

She walked into his office.

“So,” Xavier said minutes later as he sat in the chair behind his desk, “you said you had something to show me.”

Finklestein, who sat on the opposite side of the desk with his client, nodded.

Xavier had already been through the pleasantries of offering them something to drink and one of the office scones. He had even stepped out and quietly asked Ramona to call Byron to see if he also wanted to sit in on this meeting, since Byron seemed to be so eager to offer his assistance in the matter. Not surprisingly, Byron's secretary said he wasn't in yet. He rarely made it into the office before nine thirty.

“Yes, we do have something to show you,” Finklestein said, opening the manila envelope. “My client has copies of emails dated
during
her employment that show proof of systematic sexual harassment.”

He pulled out several sheets of paper that were covered in highlighted text and started to hand them across the desk to Xavier, but Spencer stopped her lawyer midmotion by grabbing his wrist.

“Wait,” she said. “Before we do this, I want to know first what will happen to him once this comes out.”

Finklestein sighed. “Monique, that's not what we agreed to,” he said softly. “Remember we talked about this, and I explained—”

“I know what you explained, but I wanna know first!” she boomed, then suddenly turned her gaze to Xavier. Her long, dark hair whipped around her shoulders. “What's going to happen? Is he going to get fired?”

“I can't disclose information like that. That would be left to the discretion of Human Resources and his superiors.”

“Come on!” she snapped. “Don't give me that! We're playing ball with you guys, aren't we? I'm not backing out. I only want to know the truth! Is he going to be fired?”

Xavier took a deep breath. He didn't have to reveal anything to her, but if he wanted this arbitration to finally move forward, he might have to cave on this one.

“I can't say for sure,” he began cautiously, “but if your allegations are true, his termination would be a strong possibility. Yes.”

She released her lawyer's wrist and let her eyes drift to her lap. “Thank you for at least telling me,” she murmured.

Finklestein finally handed Xavier the sheets of paper. Xavier began to read them and when he did, his stomach plummeted. The language in the emails was pretty salacious—definitely not PG-13. But what astounded him wasn't the kinky, naughty banter between Spencer and her “harasser,” but the other name in the heading of the emails. When Xavier saw whom she was accusing, his head snapped up and he glared across the desk at Finklestein and Spencer.

“Byron Lattisaw?”
he asked, almost choking on the name. “Byron Lattisaw?
That's
the manager who you're alleging sexually harassed you?”

“Yes, it is.” Finklestein nodded, speaking for his client and smiling triumphantly. “And you can see plainly that Mr. Lattisaw was the aggressor here.”

Xavier dropped the sheets of paper on his desk, now dumbstruck.

Well, this explained why Byron had been so eager to help out with the arbitration and why he had been equally eager for the company to settle with Spencer. Byron knew that eventually the identity of the man who had started this whole debacle would come out. He had been trying to protect his own ass this whole time!

“So Byron is also the father of your baby?” Xavier asked quietly.

Finklestein loudly cleared his throat. “That question isn't relevant to—”

“Yes, he is,” Spencer blurted out, making her lawyer grumble beside her. “And I still love him. I still love him!” She sniffed and looked at Xavier, teary-eyed. “I didn't want to do this. Please tell Byron that I didn't want to do this to him, but I didn't know what else to do!”

“Monique,” Finklestein said, looking like he wanted to clap his hand over his client's mouth, “I urge you not to—”

“He promised me that he'd take care of me,” she lamented, ignoring her lawyer's warnings. “He said that he would leave his wife. He said he wanted to marry me. Then when I told him I was pregnant, he acted like he didn't even know me!”

Xavier opened his desk drawer and pulled out a pack of tissues he kept on hand. He slid them across his mahogany desktop toward her and she quickly grabbed a handful. She dabbed at the corner of her eyes, smudging her mascara, and blew her nose.

“I don't have a job, Mr. Hughes. I don't have any money! How could Byron do this to me?
How could he?
” She burst into uncontrollable sobs.

Xavier didn't know how to tell her that promises from a man like Byron should never be taken seriously. Byron would never marry a woman like Monique Spencer. His wife Kelly came with her own trust fund and had been handpicked by Byron's parents. Byron only saw Spencer as a fling—a fling that went cockeyed when she became pregnant. Rather than impact his own wallet and ruin his reputation, Byron had let this poor woman go forward with suing the entire company in order to secure money to take care of her child. Byron was a selfish asshole, a man with no honor. Xavier didn't know how to tell Spencer any of this without crushing her further, but he knew what he had to do next.

He turned to Finklestein. “Thank you for sharing this information. I'll convey it to the proper people.”

 

“It can't be,” Herbert Allen murmured, shaking his head. “Xavier, are you sure?”

Xavier laid the email copies on the desk in front of his mentor and nodded. “It's all there, Herb. The stuff that Byron wrote to her is pretty graphic, definitely not work appropriate.”

Herb reached for the papers and began to scan them. “Good Lord! The boy is
married.
What the hell was he thinking?”

“Byron was being Byron. You've heard the rumors about him just like I have. I had only assumed he wouldn't pull this same crap here at the company. I guess I assumed wrong.”

“Please tell me the relationship was at least consensual. Not that it makes much difference, but . . . He didn't badger her, did he? For my own peace of mind, I hope she didn't feel pressured to enter a sexual relationship with him.”

Xavier lowered himself into the wingback chair facing Herb's desk.

Being the CEO of the company, Herb had by far the biggest office in the entire building, but it didn't feel hollow. Herb kept the space warm and much like an at-home library with leather and mahogany furniture, towering bookshelves, and lamps with an antique bronze finish. In fact, the office's atmosphere was so warm that Xavier always felt like he was visiting an old friend here—not his boss, which was why he had no problem being perfectly candid at that moment.

“Byron was pretty aggressive initially, but yes, I believe based on what I've read and how Spencer feels about him that it
definitely
was consensual. She fell in love with him. She's been trying to protect him this whole time.”

“That poor girl,” Herb whispered as he stared at one of the sheets of paper. He finally raised his eyes to look at Xavier again. “Well, this is quite the situation. Byron knows the rules. We'll give him a chance to explain himself, but more than likely he'll have to be let go.”

Xavier nodded in agreement. “More than likely.”

Herb lowered his head and closed his eyes. “Oh, the fallout from this is going to be horrendous. Raquel and Byron's mother have been friends for
years
. Hell, Byron went to school with Constance!”

“I know, but Byron did it to himself. When he was hired here, he signed an agreement forbidding sexual harassment just like we all did and—”

“I know. I know,” Herb said, waving his hand to silence him. He opened his eyes. “Well, I guess I better call him in to speak to him personally. I at least owe his parents that, I think.” He sighed and slumped back in his chair. “There go my plans for the day.”

“Hey, I'm with you. I had to cancel a meeting with Pierce because of this. I've rescheduled with the guy twice already. I bet he's starting to think I'm avoiding him.”

“And I wanted to stop by Dawn's gallery around lunchtime to give her a check,” Herb lamented, looking crestfallen.

At the mention of Dawn's name, Xavier instantly perked up. He hadn't seen her since the field trip to the ice-skating rink several days ago. He had been thinking about her off and on since then.

“A check?”

“Yes, I told her that I was interested in purchasing a few of the paintings she had at her gallery,” Herb continued, “and I wanted—”

“I can take her the check for you!” Xavier instantly volunteered. “I had planned to head into D.C. later this week, but I could do it today. It wouldn't be . . . It wouldn't be a problem.”

Herb smiled. “Xavier, you're many things—my lawyer, my future son-in-law, and my confidant—but the one thing you are
not
is my errand boy.” He chuckled. “I'm not going to ask you to take this to Dawn. I could have one of the messengers in the building do it if I needed to. Besides, it doesn't need to be done right away.”

“But it's no big deal,” Xavier insisted as he rose from his chair. “I can take it to her. Besides, I-I wanted to check on her. She twisted her ankle at the ice skating rink. I talked her into going, into being a chaperone. I'd like . . .” He cleared his throat. “I'd like to make sure she's recovering OK.”

Herb squinted and stared at Xavier for several seconds. He then slowly reached for one of his desk drawers and pulled out an envelope. “Well . . . if you insist.” He held the envelope toward the younger man.

Xavier grabbed it, but he noticed that Herb hadn't released the other end of the envelope. He gazed at his mentor, perplexed.

“You two are getting along rather well, aren't you?” Herb asked.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean you and Dawn seem to be hitting it off. In fact, I think you're getting along better with Dawn than Dawn and Constance are getting along with each other. Those two haven't connected at all.”

“Well, they're two women who just found out a month or so ago that they're sisters, Herb. It has to be awkward. And there is the age difference between them.”

Herb finally released the envelope. “There's an age difference between you and Dawn
too,
Xavier, and it doesn't seem to have made much of a difference.”

“I . . . I suppose not,” he said, clearing his throat again. “Good point.” Was it his imagination or was the temperature rising in the room? He tucked the envelope into his suit breast pocket. “I'll let you get back to your work. In the meantime, I'll take care of this check for you.” He turned and began walking toward the office door.

“Oh, Xavier!” Herb called after him.

Xavier stopped and turned around. “Yes?”

“I appreciate you being so welcoming to Dawn. I want her to feel like she's part of the family, and I'm glad you're making an effort to do that, but . . . you don't have to try
too
hard. All right? We wouldn't want to make Connie jealous.”