Another Woman's Man (4 page)

“N
ow, we can hold the wedding ceremony here,” Cynthia Gibbons said as she pointed to the front hall and walked swiftly across the marble-tiled floor. Her voice and the sound of her high heels echoed off the front hall's coffered ceilings and forest green walls. “Mama, you can enter the ceremony this way, down the left wing staircase. It would definitely be dramatic.”

“It would, wouldn't it?” Yolanda said before turning to the squat man who stood beside her. Her arm was looped through his. “What do you think, honey? Does the staircase sound nice?”

A smile creased his dark, bulldog-like face as he warmly patted Yolanda's hand. “Whatever you want, baby.”

Whatever you want, baby
.... Those seemed to be the only words that came out of Reginald Whitfield's mouth since Cynthia started giving him and her mother the grand tour of the recently restored historic mansion, Glenn Dale. Cynthia had spearheaded the renovation of the mansion herself as head of the historic preservation association in Chesterton. Yolanda and Reginald planned to hold their nuptials there in March. Reginald didn't seem to have any opinions on the venue, the ceremony, the reception, or the décor. He was leaving all the decision making to Yolanda.

Which is just as well,
Cynthia thought wryly. Her mother was marrying him for his willingness to write checks, not for his opinions.

“Another thing you two may want to consider is where you'll hold the cocktail hour for the reception,” Cynthia said as she walked across the front hall and pointed to the adjacent rooms. “You can hold it either in the front parlor or one of the sitting rooms.”

“Hmm, I don't know.” Yolanda turned to Reginald expectantly again. “Any preference, sweetheart? One of the sitting rooms or the parlor?”

Yolanda was in her mid-sixties, but she looked several years younger and was still a very beautiful woman. Her salt-and-pepper hair was upswept today, though soft curls fell around her face. She wore a trim tan Michael Kors suit and a simple string of pearls.

Reginald looked out of place standing next to her. Though his clothes were just as expensive, they didn't complement his rotund frame quite as well. The buttons of his single-breasted suit were pulling so tightly they looked as if they could pop off at any second. He kept tugging uncomfortably at the starched white collar of his dress shirt.

He stuck his finger in his collar even now and tugged at it again as he shook his head. “Whatever you think is best, baby.”

Cynthia stifled a groan. If neither of them made a decision soon, they would be wandering around this mansion forever.

“Well,” Cynthia ventured, “if neither of those options work, you could even—”

Cynthia stopped when she suddenly heard a light melody tinkling, letting her know her cell phone was ringing. She glanced down at her phone screen and saw that Dawn was calling her. Considering that Dawn was probably calling to talk about yesterday's meeting with her father, Cynthia guessed it would be better to answer this one without their mother around.

“Mama, I have to take this call,” Cynthia said, pasting on a smile. “Would you guys excuse me?”

Yolanda and Reginald were just walking into one of the sitting rooms. At Cynthia's words, Yolanda turned away from her fiancé.

“Is everything all right, honey?” Yolanda asked.

“Oh, everything is fine. Just fine! Why don't you guys continue to look around? I'll be right back.” Cynthia then walked toward the front hall, tossing her sun-kissed locks over her shoulder.

“Hey,” she whispered after pressing a button on the glass screen.

“Hey! Sorry I didn't call you yesterday, girl. I got home a little late,” Dawn answered.

“Yeah, I was wondering why I didn't hear from you.” Cynthia walked farther away, hoping their mother couldn't hear her in the echoing, vacant rooms.

Though Dawn knew Cynthia didn't approve of her clandestine meeting with her father, they both knew Cynthia still counted on being the first person Dawn called after the meeting. The two oldest siblings in the Gibbons clan had always been the closest: best friends as well as lifelong rivals.

“So how'd your ‘date' with Daddy go?” Cynthia asked.

“Well, it was . . . Wait. Why are you whispering?”

“To cover your ass.” Cynthia took a cautious glance over her shoulder. “Mama and Reginald are nearby. I'm giving them a tour of Glenn Dale today. Mama's thinking about holding the wedding ceremony and reception here. Remember?”

“Oh, yeah! Totally forgot. Well, anyway, the ‘date' went pretty good, I guess.”

“You guess?”
Cynthia paused. “Why? What happened? He didn't turn out to be an asshole, did he?” Cynthia slowly shook her head and sucked her teeth. “I knew it! I told you that it was a bad idea to agree to meet him again. There was something about that—”

“Calm down, Cindy! He's not an asshole. He's nothing like that. He seems . . . amazing, actually. It's just . . .”

“Just what?”

“It's just . . . weird, you know? I mean, this person was a total stranger to me a couple of weeks ago and now he's my dad!
My dad!
He has all this history and his own family. He has a wife and a daughter. And listen to this, Cindy—he wants me to
meet
them!”

“Say what now?”

“Yeah, I know, right? We're supposed to have dinner together around Christmas Eve.”

A dinner at Christmas Eve?
Cynthia leaned against the foyer wall. She pulled back the thick velvet curtains and peered out the window at the mansion's snow-dappled front lawn and pebbled driveway.

Though one part of Cynthia had worried that Dawn meeting her father would only lead to heartache, the other part of her had worried that it would lead to something much different: Dawn building a relationship with another family. Within the past year or so, Cynthia had already felt the strong bond between her and her sisters being tested. It was no longer just the Gibbons girls laughing over mani-pedis or conspiring over Saturday brunch how to seduce rich men. Now Lauren and Stephanie were madly in love, involved in their own relationships, and wrapped up in their budding families. They had little time for their sisters anymore. It was just Cynthia and Dawn left, and now it looked like Dawn was going to drift away too.

“A holiday dinner, huh?” Cynthia mumbled sullenly. “So I guess you got a good package deal out of this, then . . . an ‘amazing' father, a whole new family, and a new sister too.”

“I don't
need
a new sister. Believe me, honey, I've got enough!”

“You're damn right about that.”

“Look, Cindy, don't worry,” her sister reassured her, reading her mind. “
You're
my sisters—you, Steph, and Lauren—and always will be. I love you guys. Having dinner with my father and his family isn't going to change that.”

“I know, I know,” Cynthia said, though it warmed her heart to hear those words. She could breathe a little easier now. “So tell me more about the new relatives. What're their names?”

Dawn sighed. “Constance and Raquel,” she answered flatly.

“Oh, Good Lord, girl! Are you serious?
Constance and Raquel?
It's like an episode of
Dynasty
!”

“I know. I feel like I should show up in a sequined gown and shoulder pads,” Dawn drawled sarcastically.

Cynthia cracked up laughing, then she quickly quieted. She made another hasty glance over her shoulder to make sure their mother hadn't heard her.

“I'm the long-lost sister from the wrong side of the tracks!” Dawn exclaimed.

“Pardon me?
Wrong side of the tracks?
We didn't exactly grow up in the projects.”

“Yeah, but we come from gold-digger money. You know people see it differently. They always look down on it.”

“Well,” Cynthia said, casually waving her hand and glancing at her nails, “I've never given a damn either way. You know what Mama always says, ‘A hundred dollar bill is a hundred dollar bill, whether it comes from your paycheck or your ex-husband's wallet.' ”

“True. Very true.”

“So, next question: When are you going to tell Mama about all this?”

Dawn moaned. “Oh, God, do I
have
to?”

“You're the one who's getting chummy-chummy with them! You can't keep it a secret forever, and the longer you do, the more pissed she's going to be when she finally finds out.”

“Please! Mama is more focused on getting married to Daddy Warbucks over there than she is on anything else. Hearing about my father would just be a distraction for her.”

“Yeah, right.” Cynthia chuckled. “Coward!”

“Call me what you want, but I think this way is best. And you
will
continue to keep it a secret until I say not to do so, won't you, Cindy?”

Cynthia dropped a hand to her hip and rolled her eyes.

“Cindy?”
Dawn repeated tersely on the other end of the line. “Promise me you'll keep it a secret!”

“All right! All right! I promise. I just think it's silly. You act like you're having an affair with him or something.”

“Your opinion is appreciated, but I'll follow my own opinion for now.” Dawn paused again. “Look, I've got to go. I've got a meeting with the gallery staff. I'll talk to you later, okay?”

“Okay, talk to you later,” Cynthia said before hanging up her phone.

She was just about to turn away from the foyer window and head back toward the sitting room where she could hear—even from here—Reginald answer with yet another, “Whatever you want, baby,” when something caught her eye. She pulled back the curtain panel again and squinted at an unfamiliar car parked in the driveway.

A woman sat in a tan Grand Marquis, staring out the windshield. Her car was parked behind Yolanda's. The woman had a pen in her hand and was furiously scribbling on a sheet of paper perched on the steering wheel.

“I wonder who that is,” Cynthia muttered.

She slowly opened the front door, stepped onto the limestone, and stood underneath the archway of the loggia. She rubbed her arms and shoulders against the chill in the air, walked down the steps, and waved at the mysterious woman.

“Hello! Welcome to Glenn Dale!” Cynthia called. “May I help you?”

The woman froze and suddenly looked up from her sheet of paper. Her brown face was slightly obscured by the oversized faux fur hat she was wearing, but Cynthia could see the woman's panicked expression instantly. The woman pushed back her hat and gazed up at Cynthia.

Her plump face was covered in about two tons of makeup. She wore false eyelashes that fluttered like window shades as she blinked. With the press of a button, she lowered her car window.

“I-I just wondered if you knew whose car that is,” the woman asked hesitantly, pointing at Yolanda's Mercedes.

“Yes, I do, but . . .” Cynthia narrowed her eyes suspiciously. “Why do you want to know?”

The woman's panicked expression abruptly disappeared. She pushed back her shoulders. Her face became stern. “Because I saw whoever was driving that car,” she said, jabbing her stubby finger at Yolanda's Mercedes again, “walk in with
my
Reggie, and I wanna know who the hell she is!”

My Reggie? Oh hell,
Cynthia thought. It seemed that Yolanda might not be the only woman in homely Reginald's life. But that was neither here nor there. Yolanda was the one who was sporting the engagement ring. This chick would just have to accept defeat and step aside.

“Ma'am, this is private property. Unless you would like to schedule a tour of the mansion or the grounds, I'm going to have to ask you to—”

“Well, if you won't tell me who the hell she is, can you at least tell me
why
they're here?” the woman exclaimed.

Cynthia loudly cleared her throat. “What Mr. Whitfield and his fiancée are doing here today is, frankly, none of your business.”

The woman gaped. Her drawn-on eyebrows shot up an inch. “His . . . his fiancée?”

“Yes,” Cynthia said with a mocking grin and a nod, “
his fiancée
. Now again, if you aren't scheduling a tour, would you kindly leave?”

The woman's expression darkened. She raised the car window, turned on the engine, and threw the car into reverse. Cynthia had to jump out of the way to keep from getting hit by the car's bumper as the vehicle suddenly lurched backward. The woman then did a three-point turn before speeding off, sending up a spew of gravel, dirt, and day-old snow.

X
avier rushed from the glass-enclosed conference room, making quick business of getting back to his office. The early-morning meeting had run long, and the list of things he still had to do today was even longer.

“Hey, Xavier! Xavier, wait up!” someone shouted behind him.

He turned slightly to see Byron Lattisaw, another member of the Allen Enterprises corporate counsel team, smiling and jogging to catch up with him.

Xavier stifled a grumble.

Though he had known Byron for more than a decade, the fellow corporate climber wasn't one of Xavier's favorite people. Byron was much better at schmoozing and ass kissing than he was at his actual job, which meant he passed the burden for most of his work onto his overwhelmed underlings.

Byron had a similar wealthy background to Xavier's fiancée, Constance. The Lattisaws and Allens belonged to the same country club. Constance and Byron went to the same prep schools and similar Ivy League colleges. They got the same lavish gifts for their birthdays and graduations. But while growing up with a silver spoon in her mouth had made Constance innocent and sheltered, Byron came off to Xavier as the most pretentious asshole that ever was.

“What's up?” Xavier asked, not breaking his stride as he walked toward the elevators. “I'm in a bit of a hurry.”

“Yeah, I can see that,” Byron said. His smile widened into a grin. He thumped Xavier on his broad shoulder. “Look, I just wanted to let you know that if you need any help—I mean
any
help at all with that whole Spencer debacle, I'm more than happy to offer you my assistance.”

Xavier did a double take.
Wait!
Was Byron actually volunteering to help do something? Xavier glanced out the floor-to-ceiling windows along the seventh-floor corridor, making sure pigs weren't actually flying past the city landscape. He then glanced at Byron warily. Byron volunteering to do work instantly made Xavier suspicious.

“Why do you want to help?” Xavier asked as he pressed the up elevator button.

Byron shrugged. The smug grin didn't leave his brown face. “This Spencer thing is an important matter to Herb, the board, and the credibility of the company. Of course I want to help! It should be taken care of as soon as possible!”

The “Spencer thing” was a reference to Monique Spencer, a former Allen Enterprises accountant who was now threatening to sue the company for the “pain and mental anguish” she endured as a result of sexual harassment by one of the company's upper-level managers. But prior to being let go for poor work performance five months ago, Spencer hadn't breathed a word to anyone about the harassment—not her direct boss, Human Resources, or even her coworkers. She hadn't shared in her legal claim the identity of the upper-level manager that harassed her either.

The lawyer Spencer hired was willing to go through arbitration for now, but he had been pushing for a sizeable settlement: a whopping two million dollars. Because the matter was so delicate, Herb had asked Xavier to be the go-to guy on this one. He trusted Xavier to make the right decision.

The stainless steel elevator doors opened and Xavier and Byron stepped inside.

“I suggest we push for a quick settlement,” Byron said, unbuttoning his suit jacket and shoving his hands into his pockets. “Take care of it quickly. No need to drag this out and mar the company's reputation.”

“But her claim is ridiculous!” Xavier argued as the elevator car traveled to the twenty-second floor where his and Byron's offices were located. A continuous beep filled the car, marking their ascent. “She's claiming sexual harassment, but she has no proof. This is obviously just a shakedown. She refuses to name the guy who harassed her, so we can't hear his side of the story or make sure he's terminated so that we can distance ourselves from him. She doesn't want him punished for mistreatment. She isn't trying to take a stand against sexual harassment. She's made it pretty damn clear that all she wants is money.”

“Which is why we should give her what she wants,” Byron insisted. “It'll make her go away!”

The doors opened and both men stepped onto the plush carpet. They were greeted instantly by the receptionist, who sat behind a large lacquer desk. The stainless steel Allen Enterprises sign sat four feet behind her.

“Hi, Mr. Hughes, Mr. Lattisaw,” the young woman said perkily, shifting aside the mouthpiece of her headset.

Xavier gave her a polite nod. “Good morning, Jen.”

“Morning, lovely,” Byron echoed. “That's a sexy dress you're wearing.” He winked at her, making her giggle.

Xavier was taken aback. Here they were having a conversation about sexual harassment and Byron was flirting with the receptionist. Not to mention Byron was married. His wife Kelly probably wouldn't appreciate that little compliment he had given Jennifer.

Now Xavier knew even more why he didn't like this guy.

“But what about the pregnancy,” Byron continued as they walked down the hall, returning to their discussion. “That's proof enough, isn't it? If we give her the money, then make her sign a—”

“Yes, she's pregnant, but that still doesn't prove anything. From what I understand, she isn't that far along. She could have gotten pregnant
after
she was fired.” Xavier shook his head. “Look, I'm sympathetic to her plight. The guy who got her pregnant—even if he is an employee of Allen Enterprises—should be held accountable for what he did. But that doesn't mean the company itself should foot the bill. She should go after him, not us! Make him stand up and accept his responsibilities.”

They reached the end of the corridor and rounded a corner.

“That's a noble sentiment, Xavier,” Byron said dryly, “but wouldn't it be better to—”

“Oh, Xavier! There you are!” his office assistant, Ramona, exclaimed as they walked toward her desk. The middle-aged woman let out a deep breath and frantically waved a note in the air. “Thank God! You've got three messages. I tried to patch into the meeting to let you know, but the secretary down there said that machine isn't working today.”

“Three messages?”
Xavier frowned. “Were they that urgent? The person couldn't just leave a voicemail?”

“No,
she
could not,” Ramona said through tightened wrinkled lips as she peered at him over the top of her glasses.

Xavier took the slips of paper, wondering if maybe something was up with his mother. He hoped not. Leslie Ann Hughes was a widow who lived alone in Columbia, Maryland, with her two beloved sheepdogs, Lenny and Squiggy. The two dogs were named after the characters on one of his mother's favorite old TV shows,
Laverne & Shirley,
and the pooches were as screwy as their namesakes. Leslie Ann wasn't old but Xavier still worried about something bad happening to her all alone in that big house.

But when he read the messages, he realized they weren't from his mom, but from Constance. Xavier rolled his eyes at one of the messages' multiple exclamation points, “Updates on Dawn, PLEASE!!!”

Constance had been badgering him for almost a week about the promise he had made to her in bed to do more fact finding on Dawn Gibbons. He had agreed under duress. (Seduction counted as a form of duress,
right?
) He didn't think Constance would actually hold him to it. But obviously he had thought wrong. She was growing impatient, and though he had finally managed to track down more information on Gibbons and had even scheduled a meeting with one of Dawn's ex-husbands for later that day, Constance still felt he wasn't moving fast enough.

“Wow, Connie's really cracking the whip, huh?” Byron chuckled as he read the messages over Xavier's shoulder. “So do you get your nuts back
after
the wedding, or is she going to hold on to them permanently?”

In response, Xavier bestowed Byron with a withering glare.

“You know,” Byron continued, “if you need some lessons on how to get her to chill out, I can help you. Remember, I've known her a lot longer.”

Xavier gritted his teeth. “Byron, why don't we talk later? Like I mentioned before, I'm a little busy right now.”

“Yeah, busy,” Byron said sarcastically with a snort. “Sure, I'll catch you later.”

“Asshole,” Xavier muttered as he watched Byron leave. He then turned to Ramona. “Thanks for taking these.” He gave an apologetic smile as he held up the messages.

“Oh, it's no problem, Xavier! That's my job! I only hope everything's OK. She seemed really anxious.”

Xavier walked into his office a few seconds later, balled up the messages, and tossed them into the waste bin. He had another meeting with the company auditor in about twenty minutes, but he figured he should take the time to call Constance back lest Ramona have to deal with another deluge of messages. He shut his office door and dialed his fiancée's cell number.

“Pumpkin!”
Constance cried with relief after the first ring. “I thought you'd never call me back!”

He fell back into his desk chair. “I was in a meeting. Did you really have to leave three urgent messages with Ramona?”

“Well, if you had called me back this morning when I—”

“I told you that I was in a meeting, Connie.”

“So are you making progress on the Dawn thing?”

He sighed. “Yes, I am.”

“So don't be so tight-lipped, pumpkin! What did you find out?”

“Besides the fact that she's a gallery director, I know she has no children, has been married twice, and lives alone in a small town called Chesterton. She's never gone to jail and hasn't had anything more than a traffic ticket, so she has no criminal history.”

“That's it?”
Constance cried. “That's all you found out?”

Xavier was tempted to remind his fiancée that he wasn't getting paid to do this. Also, it wasn't like he found it completely ethical to conduct a background check on Herb's other daughter. But he bit his tongue.

“That's all I've found out for now. But I'm supposed to talk to one of her ex-husbands today. Maybe he'll tell me more about her.”

“I hope so, pumpkin. Like I said, I don't want Daddy to get too close to this woman if she's just going to take advantage of him.”

“I understand, baby.” He glanced at the clock on his desk. “Look, I've got to go. I've got another meeting I have to run to.”

“OK, just call me when—”

“Don't worry. I'll call you this evening to tell you everything. Talk to you later. Oh, and, uh, love you. Bye,” he said hastily before hanging up the line.

Xavier stood from his chair and grimaced. He hated rushing Constance off the phone, but her anxiousness was starting to get really irritating. He just hoped whatever he learned today would finally alleviate her fears.

 

“Clinton Parks?” Xavier asked as he walked toward the restaurant table.

The man slowly lowered his drink, looked up from his menu, and nodded. He stood and extended his hand to Xavier. “Yes, and you must be Xavier Hughes.”

Xavier firmly shook his hand and pulled out a chair. “Pleased to meet you.”

They both sat down.

Funny,
Xavier thought. Dawn's ex-husband wasn't quite what he had pictured. A sophisticated, beautiful woman like her seemed like she could have just about any man she wanted, but in front of him sat a so-so-looking black man of average height who had to be almost Herb's age. In fact, Clinton Parks's only distinguishing characteristic was the wealth he emanated. It radiated from his Armani suit and his Gucci watch, from his leather shoes and his diamond pinkie ring. Xavier had grown up on the periphery of men like this. Some rich men like Herb were kind and humble. Others like Byron Lattisaw were true assholes. He wondered which one Clinton Parks was.

“Thank you for agreeing to meet me today,” Xavier said. “I know my invitation came out of the blue.”

“Oh, no problem. I was intrigued by the invitation more than anything else. Found it hard to say no.”

A sultry-looking waitress suddenly appeared behind Parks.

“Hello, gentlemen,” she said. “Are you ready to order lunch? I could tell you about today's specials.”

Parks reached up and grabbed the waitress's hand, catching Xavier off guard. The woman's polite smile tightened, but she didn't tug her hand away though Xavier could tell she was uncomfortable.

“Give us a few more minutes, honey,” Parks said softly, rubbing her wrist with his thumb. “My friend here hasn't had a chance to look at the menu yet.”

She nodded. Her pale cheeks flushed bright red. “S-s-sure. There's, uh . . . no rush. Take your time.” She pulled her hand away.

Parks's eyes stayed riveted on her ass as she walked off. He finally turned back around to face Xavier and chuckled.

“Cute girl. She reminds me a lot of my third wife.”

“You don't say,” Xavier mumbled, instantly disliking the man.

“I'll ask for her phone number before I leave.” Parks raised his chilled glass to his lips. “Always on the lookout for wife number five.”

Xavier clenched his jaw. Well, he guessed he knew what category of rich men Parks fell into.

“So you want to know about Dawn?” Parks asked with a sly grin.

Xavier nodded, grateful for the subject change. “Sure. Whatever information about her you're willing to share.”

“You aren't marrying her, are you?”

Xavier frowned.

“ 'Cuz if you are, make sure you get a prenup. Learn from my mistake! That girl can get
pretty
expensive. She cost me damn near a quarter of a million dollars before all was said and done. But she taught me a lesson.” He tapped his index finger on the table. “All my wives after that, I made them sign on the dotted line before I said any vows. I don't care how much they
claimed
they loved me.”