Because of You. Rochelle Alers
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Because of You
Rochelle Alers
Dear Reader,
When readers are asked why they read romance, the reason I hear most often is the family-themed miniseries. I’ve created a few over the years: the Coles, the Blackstones, the Whitfields and the Eatons. But now there is a new family waiting to take center stage—the Wainwrights.
Romance readers first met Jordan Wainwright in Man of Fate from The Best Men series, and got another glimpse of him in the online read Man of Fame.
When I introduced Jordan Wainwright in Man of Fate, I wanted to know why a man born of privilege would walk away from his family’s real estate empire and a prize position with a prestigious New York City law firm to champion the little guy in a community undergoing gentrification. These questions are answered in Because of You, when family secrets surface and rivals must face the truth before it destroys everything they have worked for.
In Because of You we see a very different Jordan, who works hard, plays hard and loves even harder. He is a man who is used to getting what he wants, and when he meets Aziza Fleming, he knows he must have her. Set against the backdrop of the fast-paced, glamorous and edgy chic of Manhattan, the sizzling passion between Jordan and Aziza promises forever.
Look for the Wainwright Legacy to continue with Super Bowl champion quarterback Brandt Wainwright in Here I Am, in early 2011.
Yours in romance,
Rochelle Alers
So she caught him, and kissed him, and with an impudent face said to him, I have peace offerings with me; this day have I paid my vows. Therefore I came forth to meet thee, diligently to seek thy face, and I have found thee.
—Proverbs 7:13–15
Contents
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Prologue
“Mr. Humphries?”
Raymond Humphries opened his eyes but didn’t bother to turn around when he heard his personal secretary’s voice. A hint of a smile tilted the corners of his mouth. Minerva Jackson, or Min, as he affectionately referred to her whenever they weren’t in the presence of others, was the love of his life and the keeper of all his business and a few personal secrets.
“What is it, Minerva?”
“Mr. Ennis is here to see you.”
Raymond swiveled in the leather executive chair. The same supple leather also covered the love seat, sofa and chairs next to the mahogany table in an alcove he used for small, intimate meetings. A larger conference room was set up on the first floor of the town house that housed the offices of RLH Realty, Ltd. The three-story structure was one of nearly a hundred buildings RLH owned and managed throughout Harlem. A reporter had dubbed him the “Emperor of Harlem Real Estate,” a sobriquet Raymond modestly accepted.
His large, penetrating dark eyes met a light brown pair that changed color with her mercurial moods. And lately Min’s moods had veered from syrupy sweet to unbridled rage. Maybe, Raymond thought, it was time he let her go—with a generous severance package of course. He would continue to spend time with her, but only away from the office.
“Send him in. And hold my calls.”
Minerva’s full lips parted when she stared at her boss. Raymond Humphries was only her boss at the office. In the bedroom she was boss. He was rapidly approaching his seventy-fifth birthday, yet he looked twenty years younger. His wasn’t tall, only an inch above her five-eight height, but his slim physique and ramrod-straight posture gave him the appearance of being much taller. His personal barber cut his graying hair to camouflage the thinning strands on the crown, and Raymond had a standing weekly appointment for a full body massage and a monthly European facial; the features he’d inherited from his beautiful mother made him almost too pretty for a man. His skin, the color of polished rosewood, was clear and virtually wrinkle-free. The exception were the lines around his eyes when he smiled.
He was the only man she’d known who, once he had begun a regimen, he didn’t vary from it. The year he’d celebrated his sixtieth birthday, he’d begun tennis lessons. Raymond had quickly become addicted to the game, installing an indoor court on the lower level of the brownstone. Minerva cursed the times when he left her bed before dawn to go into the office to practice with his coach.
“But Mrs. Humphries said she will call you back at ten.”
“Tell her I’ll call her back.” That said, Raymond swiveled again, rudely and unceremoniously dismissing his secretary.
“If you say so,” Minerva drawled sarcastically.
“Get out, Minerva!”
The fastidiously dressed middle-aged woman with a flawless café au lait complexion and stylishly coiffed, chemically straightened hair turned on her heels and stomped out of the office of the man who in the past month had changed in front of her eyes like a snake shedding its skin. Even after a snake shed his skin for a new one he’d still retain the behavior of a reptile. However, it wasn’t the same with Raymond Humphries. He may have looked the same, but Raymond had changed. Most of the time he was curt to the point of rudeness, short-tempered and exceedingly condescending. Perhaps, she mused, it was time to move on—to get another job.
Affecting a professional smile, she walked into the reception area. “Mr. Ennis, please follow me.” She escorted the man into her boss’s office. The first time she’d met the man, she’d stood several feet away from him, fearing he would smell. Yet upon closer inspection she had discovered he was clean—it was just his scraggily beard, matted hair and rumpled clothes that reminded her of the homeless man who sat on a wooden box outside a corner store near her subway station.
Donald Ennis pulled back his shoulders in an attempt to appear taller than his five-six stature. “Thank you,” he mumbled, giving the uptight, prissy woman a sidelong glance.
He knew she didn’t like him, and the feeling was mutual. Each time he came to see Raymond Humphries she turned her nose up at him as if he were offal. What Minerva Jackson didn’t know was his unkempt appearance was a foil, a carefully scripted persona for his profession. She didn’t sign his checks, so he couldn’t care less what she thought of him.
Raymond was up on his feet, hand extended, when Donald walked into his office, closing the door softly behind him. “Good morning, Ennis.” He shook his hand, then indicated a chair at the conference table. “Please sit down.”
Donald sat while Raymond stood close by, no doubt watching for his reaction when he stared at the half-dozen black-and-white photographs, some shot with a long-range lens. “What do you want?”
“Do you know who he is?” Raymond asked, answering the question with a question.
“Who